


Star Struck

by grey853



Category: due South
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Male Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 14:21:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey853/pseuds/grey853
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray's relationship with a rock star changes his partnership with Fraser.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Star Struck

**Star Struck**  
by Grey  
[Grey853@aol.com](mailto:Grey853@aol.com?subject=Star%20Struck)

* * *

Ray tapped a finger against his right temple as if pretending to think really hard before a revelation. "That's, what's the word, sir, stupid." 

"Did I ask your opinion, Detective?" 

Arms crossed tightly around his chest, his hands tucked under his armpits, Ray shook his head. "No, sir, you didn't, but this is a stupid idea, a rotten idea. With all due respect, sir, this is the worst idea you've ever had." 

Welsh sat back at his desk, hand to his cheek, his face haggard as always. "Rick Mercy's at risk. Whether he likes it or not, his manager wants protection." 

"Why not go with private security? Why the police?" 

"Rich or not, he's a citizen. He's entitled." 

Ray stood very still, his gut clenched. "But why me?" 

Welsh snorted as if the reason should be obvious to a star detective. "Because you're a blender." 

"I'm an appliance?" 

"Don't pull that Canadian malarkey with me, Detective. You blend in. This guy's a punk rock singer. I look around and I'm pretty sure Huey won't blend, Dewey won't blend, but you, you Vecchio, you'll blend." 

Fuck. Ray sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose to fight back the building headache, wishing like hell he hadn't done the experimental hair thing again. "Sir, I don't know about this." 

"All you need to know is that the higher ups want his ass covered. Until we catch the guy who's trying to crack his skull open, that's going to be your job." 

"I'm a detective, not a babysitter." 

Welsh's frown deepened. "You got a problem with Mercy?" 

"You know anything about The CryptSingers or Rick Mercy?" 

"Just that he's pretty famous and sings stuff that makes my ears bleed." 

Ray paced a few times, his shoulders still hunched, his body tight all over. "He's got a bad rep, drugs, booze, lots of fights. Tends to fly off the handle even at the guys in his own band." 

"Drugs? What kind of drugs?" 

"Heroin mostly. Last I heard he was clean, but that could just be PR. Now he just gets arrested for drunk and disorderly and tears up hotel rooms when he's on tour. He's trouble with a big T. He's not going to let me stay close enough to do any good." 

"That might be, but for now that's your assignment, stay close while he's in town and see if you can figure out who's trying to kill him." 

"You want me to go undercover while I'm undercover?" 

"No, they'll know you're a cop. You just have to fit into the crowd, not stand out too much. The last detective on the case seemed to think it might be someone close to Mercy." 

"Last detective? Why's he off the case?" 

Welsh shook his head. "Personality clash with Mercy, apparently." 

Shit. "I'll bet. Can I talk to the guy?" 

Welsh picked up a folder and handed it to Ray. "Detective Markowitz of the one five. Number's in there. Mercy's manager's name is Alex Rich. He wants a meet and brief at two this afternoon. Wants you to meet Mercy and to sit in on the rehearsal." 

"I've got open cases." 

"Reassigned. This takes priority for the moment." 

"I need to go through all the background stuff first, sir, and I need Fraser on this, too." 

"I fear Constable Fraser might have a problem blending in with this crowd, Vecchio." 

Ray didn't bother to argue, just cracked his neck as he studied the file about the three break-ins and the most recent attempted assault on Mercy. The notation of shots fired at the scene jumped out. "Fuck." 

"Detective?" 

"Mercy's got a gun." 

"His manager's got a permit. Apparently, he'd left the gun at Mercy's place." 

"That's not good, not good at all. A guy like Mercy could do some serious damage with a stray bullet." 

"Which is where you come in. With you there, he shouldn't have to use a gun." Welsh leaned forward, his hands together on the desk. "Look, go meet this guy, see what you can do about this mess." 

"It's not going to be easy." 

"Few things ever are, Detective." 

* * *

Rick "Don't Touch Me or I'll Break Your Face" Mercy. Of all the stinking luck. Fuck. 

Nothing like a good kick in the teeth just to make his lousy day even better. 

Sitting in his car, the motor running, Ray remembered that night he'd first seen Mercy and his band play. The man rocked, hammered the air with his powerful voice, the sexual heat burning the place down. Ray drank too much, building up his nerve to sneak backstage to see him, to maybe talk to the guy. Talk to him. Right. Ray snorted to himself, like talking was what he really wanted from Mercy. 

Instead, he got abuse, the guy too stoned on H to stand up, stumbling and puking all over himself, threatening to break his face if he touched him at all. Ray called for someone to help get the guy off the floor and into the dressing room, away from the cameras and people just standing around gawking, just letting the sick fuck lie there in his own shit. 

Later, hurried out with a free pass shoved in his hand, Ray went home, got wasted, and passed out. Ray saw it all in his head like it was just yesterday, felt the humiliation, the disappointment. Rick What a Loser Mercy. Fuck him. Now he had to see him again, erase that whole bad scene from his mind, and start over. 

Ray's curse meant remembering all the shit, good or bad, it didn't matter. Ray never forgot anything personal in his life even when he wished like hell that he could. 

The car door opened and Ray turned to see his partner climbing in to sit beside him. Smiling, Ray nodded his approval at the jeans and brown leather jacket. He'd told Fraser to dress casual and Ray loved the look, but he still had to do something about that hair. He couldn't wait to spike those dark wavy locks. He took his mind off the thought of messing up Fraser's hair by asking, "Where's Dief?" 

"From what you told me, I thought it prudent to ask Turnbull to watch him." 

"Good idea." 

Ray checked his mirrors, gunned the engine, and sped into traffic. Fraser closed his eyes and shook his head at the loud screech of tires and the horns of the other cars. "Ray, I wish you wouldn't do that." 

"Do what?" 

"Drive in such an hazardous manner." 

"We wreck yet?" 

"Aside from the crash into the Lake they call Michigan, you mean?" 

"Not my fault, and aside from that, yeah." 

"Well, no, but that's no reason to increase the probability by driving faster than the posted limits and ignoring the rights of the other motorists." 

"Yeah, right, whatever. Okay, here's the deal. We've got to figure out who's trying to whack this rich asshole. We need to do this fast. I do not, I repeat, I do not want to hang around this guy any more than I have to. Got that?" 

"Yes, indeed." Fraser studied him for a few moments. "Perhaps if you could fill me in on the details of the case, I could better assist you." 

Ray drove with one hand and reached into the back seat. He only swerved once before giving the file to Fraser. "Check it out. I talked to this Markowitz guy, the detective who worked the case up until he walked out on Mercy yesterday." 

"He quit the case? Did he give a reason?" 

Clearing his throat, keeping his eyes on the road and away from Fraser, Ray nodded. "He said Mercy's been trying to get into his pants." 

"Into his pants? Mr. Mercy wanted to wear Detective Markowitz's pants?" 

Groaning in frustration, Ray shook his head. "No, Fraser, Mercy wanted to fuck him." Ray didn't have to look to see the red. 

"I see." 

"Yeah, so anyway, Markowitz went to his Lieutenant and told him he'd file a lawsuit if he had to stay on the case. Seems this Mercy guy won't take no for an answer. Markowitz walked, so we get it dumped in our laps. Lucky us." 

"Then I take it that Mr. Mercy is homosexual." 

Ray glanced sideways, Fraser's attention still trained on the file. "Gay, straight, what's the difference? Nobody's got the right to keep hitting on somebody who's not interested." 

Fraser jerked his head up, meeting Ray's heated gaze before Ray looked back to the road. "I completely agree. That's not what I meant." 

"Then what did you mean?" 

"It was just a statement. I thought perhaps his orientation might be a factor in the attacks." 

"You mean like bashing? I doubt it. From everything I've read, he swings both ways, men, women, it doesn't seem to matter." 

"Still, if he's promiscuous, there's a possibility that there might be a disgruntled ex-lover to consider." 

"Yeah, that's an angle, but, hell, with his history, we might be spinning our wheels for a long time to find the right one. And being a prick, he's probably pissed off a lot more people on top of that. Still, it might be a disappointed or obsessed fan. We could go with that until we know different." 

"Perhaps." Fraser studied the file a bit more. "Ray, I'm concerned about this assignment." 

"Yeah, me, too." 

"What's your concern?" 

"That I'm going to deck the guy when he runs his mouth." 

"Ah." 

"Don't ah me, Fraser. Do not do that. What are you worried about?" 

Closing the file, Fraser rubbed his left eyebrow. "What will you do if he tries to get into your pants as well?" 

Ray almost wrecked the car. Once he stopped giving the jerk in the green Volvo the finger, he shook his head. "What do you think?" 

"I think it's a valid question." 

"I'll tell him to fuck off. I'm on duty." 

"And if he persists?" 

"I can handle myself, don't worry." Ray pulled up in front of his apartment building and parked the car. He turned sideways, his arm across the back of the seat. "Better question. What will you do?" 

"What will I do?" 

"Yeah, if Mercy comes on to you?" 

"Comes on?" 

"You know, makes a play, makes a pass, tries to get you to be his next fuck buddy." 

Fraser blushed brightly and pulled at the collar of his black T-shirt. "I seriously doubt that I'm his type, Ray." 

"You're breathing, you're his type. Throw in you're easy on the eyes, he's going to make a move. Just be ready if he does. Tell me and I'll stomp his sorry ass." Ray saw a flash of something, a spark maybe, some kind of heat in Fraser's eyes. It made his cock twitch, made him shift in his seat, his jeans snugger than before. 

"I'll be fine, Ray." 

"Just let me know, Fraser. I know how to handle guys like Mercy." 

Instead of answering, Fraser got out of the car, put his hat back on, and waited for Ray to get out and lock the doors. "So why are we here, Ray?" 

"I need to change and you need a new hairdo." 

"New hairdo?" 

"Don't worry. It'll look great. You just have to blend in more and you can't do that looking all smooth and clean cut and wearing a big hat." 

"Oh, dear." 

* * *

Ray's face beamed at Fraser's new look, that damned hot, how the fuck could I be a Mountie look. Ray liked it, liked it a lot. Fraser, on the other hand, needed convincing. 

"Ray, it looks wild and unkempt." 

"It's supposed to look that way, all messy. Besides, you like it on me, so what's the problem?" 

Fraser frowned and tilted his head as he checked out the new spiked do. "This rather aggressive style suits you, but I can't say it does much for me. It just looks silly." 

"Are you kidding? You look great. Trust me on this, Fraser, it works." And, oh, man, how it worked. Ray shied away from that thought as he stood behind him and stared into the mirror. "A pierced ear would look good, too. A little diamond stud would set it off just right." 

Fraser turned, wide-eyed and dismayed. "Pierced ear? Please, tell me you're joking." 

Grinning, Ray patted him on the shoulder reassuringly. "Easy much?" As soon as Fraser relaxed, Ray continued, "Besides, we don't have time and even if we did, I wouldn't ask you to do that." 

"Thank you." Fraser frowned and turned back to the mirror. "It feels strange, like it's not me." 

"I know. Funny how a different look does that. Speaking of which, I've got to change." 

"What's wrong with what you're wearing?" 

"Too fancy." 

"Jeans and T-shirt are too fancy? Then I fear I'm overdressed." 

Ray shook his head as he went into his bedroom and opened closet door. "No, you're fine. The leather jacket's a nice touch. Me, I go a bit more grungy." He pulled out a grey plaid shirt with the sleeves ripped out. Then he went to his bureau and got a raggedy, long-sleeved, off white thermal top and a pair of jeans with no right knee. 

As he striped off his Bull's T-shirt, Fraser cleared his throat. "I'll just wait in the living room." 

"Sure. Fix some tea or coffee while you're at it. Oh, and the file's on the table. Take a another look. See if you can see anything that might give us a clue about who might be behind the attacks." 

"Certainly, Ray." 

As soon as Fraser left, Ray changed quickly, surprised that the jeans hung loosely on his hips. He didn't remember losing weight, but that didn't mean much. Ray hardly ever worried about shit like weight, never did. 

As a final touch, he got out his dangly, silver skull and crossbones earring and stepped back to the bathroom. His left ear hadn't closed up completely, but it stung and bled a little as he pushed it through. Ray studied the final effect in the mirror, pleased with the overall look. He had it down, the punk look, the look he had all through high school, cool before it was cool. He smiled at his reflection and threw a quick jab at the glass. Fuck Rick Mercy and his hard ass attitude. Ray could throw back whatever he got and then some. 

Fraser turned as Ray walked into the room, startled. He licked his lower lip and cleared his throat nervously. "Dear Lord, Ray, you look very different." 

"Yeah, that's the point." He ignored the intense scrutiny and sat down at the kitchen table. "Coffee done yet?" 

Shaking himself as if to wake up, Fraser went to the counter and poured Ray a cup. He put it in front of him and then settled into the chair beside Ray's. "I was going over the file as you requested and I found something interesting." 

"What?" 

"Mr. Mercy said there were only a limited number of people who might have reason to break-in or to attack him." 

"Yeah, and he gave us a list of four names, which is a crock. We know there are a lot more people than that. The names he did give all had alibis." 

"True, but he doesn't say anything about his ex-partner Bobby Hatchett. From what I've read about their break up, Hatchett has a lot of reasons to want to do harm to Mr. Mercy." 

Ray sat back, shocked. "How the hell do you know about Bobby Hatchett?" 

"I took the liberty of looking up the files on Mr. Mercy when you called and told me about the assignment." 

Ray did quick math in his head. "But that only gave you about 30 minutes. You're telling me you could find out about Hatchett and that whole deal just like that?" 

"Well, yes, Ray. The Consulate has state of the art computer systems which allow us access to a huge number of databases and news services." 

"So you're telling me that between the time I called and the time I picked you up, you got changed and managed to do a background check on Rick Mercy along with taking care of everything else?" 

"It wasn't that difficult." 

Ray smiled in admiration. "Good job." 

"Thank you kindly. But I take it from your reaction that you already know about the rather messy Mercy/Hatchett break up." 

"Yeah, but I don't think Bobby Hatchett's responsible. Still, we should check to rule him out if nothing else." 

"Why don't you think Hatchett's responsible without first looking into his whereabouts on the dates of the attacks?" 

"Last I heard he was still singing with JESSIE'S SISTER out in LA. It'll be easy enough to check, but I don't see Hatchett going to the trouble to come back to Chicago and attack Mercy, not that he wouldn't deserve it." 

"I don't understand. Why would you say Mercy would deserve being attacked?" 

"Right before their last performance, Mercy found out Hatchett was leaving the band without telling him. Beat the guy bloody on stage." 

"Were charges filed?" 

"Hatchett wouldn't file. Rumor is that they were an item and Mercy took Hatchett's quitting the band personal, real personal, like dumping his ass in public personal." Ray leaned his elbows on the table. "Still, I don't see Hatchett coming back and doing something like this. From everything I've read, he left for LA the next day and never looked back. Mercy OD'd on smack and The CryptSingers didn't play again for almost six months." 

"We should still check for an alibi just the same to see if he took any flights to Chicago during the time of the break-ins." 

"Sure, that should be easy enough." Ray finished his coffee. He put his arms up, his hands behind his head as he stretched back. His muscles ached with the pull, way too stiff. He needed to work out more, go to the gym, do something besides ride around or sit at a desk all day. 

"Ray?" 

"Yeah?" 

"I'm uneasy about my part in this assignment." 

Ray put his arms down and leaned forward on the table. "Why's that?" 

"I'm not familiar with this world. I fear I'll be a hindrance rather than be helpful." 

"And it makes you uncomfortable, right?" 

"Yes." 

"Yeah, I get that." Fraser looked about as nervous as he did before going to the church when Stella got a bug up her ass about attending services. "Look, you'll be fine. Just follow my lead. Just keep your bat ears open and see what you can pick up from the background. Me, I'm going to focus on Mercy. I want to know who's saying what. I think Markowitz is right about it being somebody close." 

"The pattern would suggest that, yes." 

"And I need you at my back on this one because I figure Mercy's going to be a handful. I can't do this by myself, Fraser, and I don't trust anyone more than you." 

Fraser's face broke into a smile. "Thank you, Ray. I trust you more than anyone else as well." 

"So it's settled. We're going to catch this guy so you can comb your hair again as soon as possible." 

"Meanwhile, I might need your assistance in maintaining the present state. I really don't think I can in good conscience arrange it this way on my own." 

"You want me to keep fixing your hair?" 

Fraser snorted lightly. "It looks more like you're breaking it than fixing it, but yes, Ray, I do." 

"Deal, and remember, no hat." 

Fingering the brim of his Stetson, Fraser gave in. "Agreed." 

Ray leaned back, arms crossed. "One other thing." 

"What?" 

"Mercy's main hangouts are his home, which contains his studio, and his bar. It's called Mercy. When we're in the bar, be sure to watch what you drink." 

"I don't drink." 

"Even if you just get juice or water, be careful. Guys get their drinks spiked in these places all the time. The best thing is to order something bottled and have the bartender uncap it right there just to be on the safe side. And never leave it unattended and then drink it." 

"I appreciate the warning, Ray. You should also be careful. If the person is someone close to Mercy, then he or she will know you're a police officer." 

"You, too." 

"True, but my point is, that this person might want to render you unconscious at some point to get to Mr. Mercy." 

"Right. Good point." Ray stood up and checked his gun holstered under the ripped shirt. "I'd feel better if you were carrying on this." 

"You know my position on that, Ray." 

"Yeah, yeah, I know, too much paper work. Still, I've got a bad feeling about this one." 

Fraser frowned as he stood up. "Bad feeling?" 

"Yeah, the creeps, a bad vibe, the willies. I just think Mercy knows more than he's telling and it's going to backfire on us." 

"Then I suggest we go meet the man and see what we can do to get him to spill the coffee." 

Ray grinned, amused. "You mean spill the beans?" 

"Quite right, spill the beans." 

"And you think I can get him to spill the beans when Markowitz couldn't?" 

"If anyone can get Mr. Mercy to confide, it'll be you, Ray. You have uncanny skills of persuasion." 

Pleased with the compliment, Ray cracked his neck sideways and beamed. "Yeah, the kick'em in the head thing works like a charm." 

Fraser didn't argue, but just followed Ray out to the car wearing a cute blush from the strain of keeping his hands away from his own unruly, unMountie-like hair. 

* * *

Even in the middle of the afternoon, the club Mercy had people milling in and out. Ray had to blink several times to get used to the dark and dingy interior. Apparently, Mercy didn't believe in a no smoking section, the thick, grey air nearly triggering Ray's urge to light up and renew an old addiction. Ray scanned the room and spotted Mercy at the bar, the singer complaining as he finished off a bottled beer. "I told you, I don't want Warner on lights tonight. Tell Jerry to get his sorry ass in here." 

As the other man walked away, Ray stepped up, Fraser right behind him. "Sorry to interrupt, but..." 

"Who the fuck are you?" 

Ray met Mercy's steel blue eyes, but kept his anger in check and his voice steady. He showed his badge quickly and then put it away. "Detective Ray Vecchio." He thumbed in Fraser's direction. "This is my partner, Benton Fraser." 

Mercy ignored Fraser and smiled at Ray, his lips thinned almost to a sneer. "You're the cop bodyguard? What, they don't pay you guys enough to eat anymore?" 

Ray wanted to knock the guy's teeth down his throat. He stepped into Mercy's space, his eyes locked onto his. "Look, I don't want to be here, but somebody wants your miserable ass dead, like that's so fucking hard to imagine." Before Mercy could speak, Ray raised his finger in a warning motion and continued. "You don't want me here, tell your manager to call the fucking Mayor and I'm gone, zero to sixty, out of your hair. Until then, you listen to me, do what I say, and I might keep your ass alive long enough to make some money. Save your life, don't save your life, makes no fucking difference to me." 

The whole bar stilled, the tension nearly vibrating the air. Nobody stirred as they waited for the next move. Mercy never took his eyes off Ray. Finally, Mercy grinned and practically purred. "Tough guy, huh?" 

"Tough as I need to be, yeah." 

Mercy's easy smile let everyone relax enough to start talking and working again. The singer scratched the fresh dagger tattoo on his neck. "You want a beer?" 

"I'm on duty." 

Licking his lower lip, Mercy leaned in, his voice husky and suggestive. "How about when you get off?" 

Ray didn't miss the double meaning and neither did his cock. "Yeah, when I'm off duty." 

"When's that?" 

"Later. For now we need to talk." 

Mercy nodded, lifted his hand, and signaled for the bartender. "You want coffee or something?" 

"Not now." Ray looked around the place, unhappy with the set up, too many doors and easy ways to get at Mercy. "We need to find a place away from the crowd. You got an office?" 

"In the back, yeah." 

"Good. Let's go there and talk." 

Mercy picked up the fresh bottle of beer and motioned toward Fraser. "He can stay out here." 

Unsettled, Fraser frowned. "Ray?" 

"He's right, Fraser. You stay here. Keep an eye out and your ears open." 

"You're sure?" 

Fraser's worried tone amused him, but made him a little tingly all over, all that Mountie concern aimed in his direction. "Yeah, I'm sure. Won't be long." 

Not completely convinced, Fraser stared at Mercy as he spoke to Ray. "I'll be right here if you need me." 

Mercy laughed out loud, the sound harsh, almost like a cough. "Don't worry, Ben, baby. Promise not to eat the boy alive or do anything lewd or indecent." Mercy made a point of then gazing at Ray, his look hungry. "Yet, anyway." 

Ray snapped, "Knock it off, Mercy." 

Holding his hands up, acting all innocent, Mercy laughed again. "Touchy much, Detective?" 

"Touchy as hell. Now, let's get started. Where's the office?" 

"Down the hall." 

Ray glanced once more at Fraser and then headed off through the door with Mercy right behind him, his partner's worried expression burned into his memory. He couldn't help wondering if Fraser might be smarter than he was when it came to dealing with hard cases like Mercy. 

* * *

Mercy sat behind the desk and put his feet up, his leather boots clunking against the wood. "Take a load off, Ray. Get comfortable." 

Ray remained standing just to be contentious. Mercy's obvious sexual interest made him uneasy, the edginess not unlike how he felt about Fraser, a slick hunger that sometimes slipped to the surface no matter how hard he worked to keep it in check. He jerked his neck quickly sideways and cracked his spine, reminding himself of the job at hand. Pulling out his notebook, he got a pen and focused on the paper. "You told Markowitz that there were only four people who might want you dead. We both know that's bullshit. I need more to work on." 

Dropping his feet back to the floor, Mercy leaned forward, the beer bottle between both hands. He stared at Ray, his face hostile. "Markowitz was an asshole." 

Ray met his eyes, challenging. "He said you came on to him." 

"Yeah, so?" 

"So, he told you to stop and you didn't." 

"Because he didn't want me to, not really." 

"So to you no means yes until you get clobbered or shot?" 

"Or some drama queen like Markowitz files charges." 

"He didn't file." 

"Figures. Asshole wanted it and then chickened out. Believe me, I know guys like him. They want it bad, but they're afraid of what wanting it means." Mercy paused, his eyes narrowed with amusement as he studied Ray, waiting for his reaction. "You know what I mean, right? Fucking cock tease walked around begging me to fuck him, but one little kiss and he's out the door. Fucker left me hanging." 

"No means no, Mercy. Guys like you, you don't get that. You're lucky he didn't file charges. I would have." 

"I doubt that." 

Ray never took his eyes away from Mercy's, didn't blink, never hesitated. "Don't ever doubt it. I say no, I mean no, period." 

Mercy looked away first and then took a deep drink. "Okay, we're clear about that, but let me ask a question." 

"What?" 

"You want me, right?" 

Ray snorted with laughter and shook his head. "Arrogant prick." 

"Still waiting for an answer." 

Ray ignored the original question, but kept smiling. "Look, let's get back to business. Who do you know besides the people you listed who might want you dead?" 

Settling back in his chair, Mercy put his feet up again and drank a few sips. "I honestly don't know. I mean, what the fuck? I'm a singer, not some fucking politician." 

"Most people get killed for one of two things, love or money. You've got money and you've had a lot of lovers." 

"Nobody's got too many fucking lovers." 

"Somebody else might not feel that way. Somebody might have thought you meant all that pillow talk, might be stupid enough to think you really cared. Then the poor slob found out what a heartless bastard you really are and decided bashing your brains in might be doing the world a favor. You know anybody like that, someone who wanted to keep going when you were finished or who got pissed about being fucked over?" 

"Hundreds." 

"I'm serious." 

"Me, too." Mercy's expression darkened. "But there was one guy who kept coming back. Fucked him pretty hot and heavy for a couple of weeks, but he got clingy. Had to cut him loose. Not a bad guitar player, but not good enough for the band." 

"Not as good as Bobby?" 

Mercy's head jerked up, his voice sharp. "Don't talk about Bobby." 

"Sorry." 

"Just don't say his name again." 

The passion shocked him, made Ray want to say the name again just to see what would happen. Mercy's angry eyes convinced him not to be that stupid. "Speaking of names, what was the name of the guy you were talking about before, the clingy guy?" 

"Emerson." 

"First or last name?" 

"I don't know, just Emerson. Wanted me to call him Emmy or some such shit. I about puked. Way too fucking sweet for my diet." 

"Too sweet, but you still fucked him?" 

"Being a prissy queen didn't make his ass any less tight." 

"You're a classy guy, Mercy." 

"Never claimed classy." Mercy lifted his head and smiled. "But I fuck like a stallion." 

Ray looked away first that time, his face heated. He so didn't need to think about Mercy naked and fucking. He cleared his throat and got back on track. "Listen, did this Emerson ever make any threats?" 

"Nothing serious." 

"What'd he say?" 

"Said he'd cut my dick off. Didn't think he had the balls, but I have to admit, I didn't give him another chance to get close enough." Mercy's frown deepened. "You know, now that I think about it, he did say something about getting even. It's just a lot of people say shit when they're pissed. Doesn't mean they'll really fucking do it. I had this one chick who said she'd kill me, but the bitch was always screaming shit like that. I mean, how am I supposed to fucking know who's serious and who's not when they're leaving." 

"You ever listen to yourself?" 

"All the time. Got my CDs on replay." 

"Asshole." 

"Prick tease." 

Ray ran a hand through his hair and shook his head in frustration. "What's the woman's name?" 

"Who knows? Beth or Bertha or something like that. Some B name. Tripp could tell you. He fucked her, too." 

"Tripp Henderson, the drummer?" 

"Yeah." 

"Anybody else?" 

"I don't know if she fucked anybody else. Just me and Tripp as far as I know. Wanted a three way, but they wouldn't go for it." 

Rubbing his mouth, Ray shook his head again. Surely the guy couldn't have such a one-track mind. "I mean, is there anybody else you can think of who might want to break into your house, trash the place, and then kill you?" 

"And I keep telling you, I don't fucking know." 

"Then tell me about this last time, the time you shot off the nine rounds and emptied the clip. You actually see who you were shooting at or are you just that bad at hitting the target?" 

More serious, Mercy finished his beer before he spoke, his voice more strained. "That night's kind of a blur." 

"The report said you were drunk." 

His tone turned defensive. "I was in my own fucking house." 

Ray prompted the story. "Asleep. A sound woke you." 

"Yeah, yeah." Mercy closed his eyes as he tried to remember what he could. "It was dark. I turned on the light, but it didn't work." 

"The intruder cut the wires." 

"Yeah, the cops said that. Anyway, it kind of freaked me out, so I grabbed the gun Alex gave me." 

"Your manager's gun?" 

"Yeah, he told me to keep it after the last break-in." 

"You know that's illegal. You don't have a permit." 

Mercy opened his eyes, suddenly pissed. "Fuck you and fuck your permits. They won't give me a fucking permit." 

"Because of your priors." 

"I have a right to defend myself." 

Not wanting to debate the point, Ray steered him back to the story. "So the lights wouldn't work, you get the gun, then what?" 

Rubbing his face with both hands, Mercy sat back, obviously disturbed. "Do you really need to know this?" 

"I really do." 

Mercy nodded and started talking again, this time more softly. "I was out of it. I'd come home early from a bad night. The sets didn't work. Tripp and Barry both kept fucking up, missing cues. Anyway, I was still wasted when whoever broke in woke me up. I couldn't think straight." Mercy looked up, searching Ray's face for some kind of understanding, some kind of pass for his behavior. "You know what it's like to be wrecked, right? Don't tell me you've never been drunk off your ass." 

"A few times. I don't have a problem if that's what you're asking." 

"Lucky you." 

"Back to the night, Mercy. What happened?" 

"I got up. Stumbled a few times before I made it downstairs. The noise came from the studio." 

"The report said you found the intruder smashing up your sound system." 

"Yeah, cost a fucking fortune to replace, too. Anyway, I shouted for him to stop, but he kept wrecking stuff with this hammer or crowbar or some such shit. He turned to come at me and I shot." 

"And you missed all nine times?" 

"I fell down and I was drunk. I'm lucky I didn't shoot myself." 

"And you didn't see who it was before he ran out?" 

"Hardly any lights. When the door came open for him to run out, I got the impression that it was a guy, but I can't really say why." 

"Tall, short, medium?" 

"Tall, taller than me, thin, too." Mercy checked out Ray and then smiled, his voice teasing. "Sort of like you. Fuck. Could've been you." 

"And several hundred other folks in your life." 

"True." 

Ray closed up his notebook. "I'll need to interview Tripp and the other guys in the band along with your manager and anyone else you see on a regular basis." 

"That should keep you fucking busy for a while." 

"And you need to bring more men in for security when you're working. Call Boyd's. They're good. You need at least four men on the club and another four for the house, two man teams for rotating shifts until we get this thing cleared up." 

"I thought you were supposed to be the bodyguard." 

"I can't do both. I can protect you when I'm here, but not all the time, not and investigate the case, too. This place has too many doors and cubbyholes. It's the perfect place to get shot." 

"I'll tell Alex about getting more men, but none of the attacks have been here. They've all been at my place." 

"There's always a first time. Speaking of your place, I need to check it out, go over the floor plan." 

Pleased, Mercy nodded. "I've got a practice set, but then I'll go home before the show tonight. You can come then." 

"Me and Fraser both." 

"Fraser." Mercy said the name like it hurt. "What's the deal? You two together?" 

"He's my partner." 

"He doesn't look like a cop." 

"Neither do I." 

"Good point." Mercy considered Ray another moment and then he smiled, his eyes suddenly more dark. "You ever fuck him?" 

"What the hell kind of question is that? Of course not." 

"You ever want to?" Ray didn't answer right away, the slight hesitation enough. "Fucking figures." 

Ray wanted to smack that stupidass grin right off his face, slam his body against the wall, and kick his smug ass all at the same time. "It's none of your fucking business." 

"He's pretty. Got a great mouth and an ass to die for. Can't blame you for wanting a taste of that." 

"Shut the fuck up, Mercy." 

"Or what?" 

Ray didn't know what to say right away, so he stepped closer to the desk. Then he leaned in. "Fraser's like Bobby. Off limits." 

The hurt at hearing his lost friend's name tamed the hunger in Mercy's eyes. "Deal." 

* * *

Mesmerized, Ray swayed with the beat of The CryptSinger's music. He got off on this stuff, the hard punch of a voice doused in whiskey and smoke that gutted his insides. Mercy might be a pig, but he sang like a fallen angel. Leaning back against the bar as the song ended, he glanced over at Fraser. He frowned with concern. "You okay, Frase? You look a little green around the gills." 

Fraser tugged at his ear. "I'm sorry, Ray. This isn't my type of music." 

"Too loud?" 

"Very." 

"With sensitive ears like yours, I guess it really does hurt when it gets that loud, huh?" 

"I'm afraid so, yes." 

Ray moved closer, keeping his eye on Mercy, but listening to Fraser. "So, while we were in the office, what'd you hear?" Fraser shifted uneasily. "What?" 

Blushing slightly, Fraser lowered his voice to a whisper. "Mr. Henderson, the drummer, was making a wager with the bass player, Mr. Davis." 

"A wager? On what?" 

"I'd rather not say." 

Ray's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "You can't not tell me, Fraser. What'd they bet on?" 

"Well, it's got nothing to do with the case, Ray." 

"Then why'd you bring it up?" 

"I suppose because it was rather disturbing." 

"If I knew what the hell we were talking about, I might agree." 

Fraser rubbed his eyebrow nervously and kept his voice low. "Mr. Henderson bet Mr. Davis that Mr. Mercy would try to seduce you. They made the wager conditional on when the actual consummation would occur. Mr. Davis is of the opinion that it will be tonight. Mr. Henderson believes you will hold out until the case is over." 

It was Ray's turn to blush. "So you're saying Davis thinks I'm easy and they both think I'm a slut? Didn't either one of them think I might not swing that way?" 

"Apparently not, Ray." 

"Shit. It's the earring." 

"I believe it's probably more than that." 

Shocked, Ray met Fraser's clear blue eyes. "What?" 

"That is to say, you did give off a rather heated reaction when you first met him." 

"You saying you think I'm hot for the guy?" 

"Are you?" 

"That's rude, Fraser, totally out-of-line and unMountie-like." 

Bright red, Fraser straightened, but he didn't back away. "I know that, Ray, but I think as your partner I have a right to know if your obvious attraction to Mr. Mercy is going to be a problem." 

"Obvious attraction?" Ray swallowed hard, hating that he was so fucking easy to read about Mercy. How the fuck could Fraser see that and have no clue about other attractions, other needs? "You really think it's that obvious?" 

"Well, he is a famous rock star, Ray. If I close one eye, I suppose one could call him attractive in a rather crude, earthy kind of way." 

Ray laughed at that, the image of Fraser trying hard to see the attraction worth smiling about. "One eye, huh?" 

"Seriously, Ray, is it a problem?" 

"You mean am I star struck, stuck on the guy, hoping he'll see more than a Chicago detective when he looks in my direction and sweep me off my feet?" 

"Ray..." 

"No, Fraser, it's not a problem." 

"You're sure?" 

"Very sure." 

"I'm glad, Ray." 

Ray smiled and punched Fraser lightly in the arm. "Had you worried." 

"I must confess, the band members seemed very confident in the matter." 

"But you know me, Fraser. I'm not going to fall for some guy like Mercy. Hell, I had enough of that out of your league stuff with Stella." 

"He's not out of your league, Ray, not in the sense that he's better than you. If I understand the meaning of the phrase, I think it's more a matter of him not being in your league." 

"Some people might not think so." 

"Some people might be wrong." 

The conviction behind the words surprised him, made him dizzy. "I appreciate that, Fraser." 

"You're welcome." 

Ray chewed on his right thumb for a second and then cocked his head toward the stage. "Now, before Mercy gets over here, tell me what else you heard, any impressions you got while you were eavesdropping on the crew." 

Back to the case, Fraser related what he'd learned. "It would seem Mr. Mercy has a problem with the morale of his group." 

"What kind of problem?" 

"Mr. Henderson wants to leave and has for some time. Barry Goldman, the lead guitarist mentioned that Mr. Henderson had been talking to Bobby Hatchett. He said there was a possible contract offer with another band with the same manager Mr. Hatchett has." 

"But they all have current contracts with The CryptSingers." 

"All the members seem rather disgruntled with Mr. Mercy, Ray." 

"They were all smiles when he came in to play." 

"True, but it's been my experience that people aren't always truthful when they're afraid of a confrontation with a strong-willed leader." 

"You mean an unpredictable son of a bitch like Mercy." 

"Precisely. In this case, I believe that we should investigate the band members about the nights of the break-ins and the attempt on Mr. Mercy's life." 

"I think you're right." Ray paused. "We're supposed to go to Mercy's house to check it out before coming back to the show. You want to interview the other guys while I do that?" 

"I don't like the idea of you being alone with the man, Ray. I'll admit his obvious disdain for any sense of propriety makes me uncomfortable, but it's more than that. I don't trust him." 

"I don't trust him, either, Fraser, but if the guys in the band think that I'm his next lay, I doubt seriously they're going to open up to me. You've got a better chance at getting something out of them. You're good with reading people." 

"Thank you, Ray. Still..." 

"Don't worry. I'll just check out the layout of the house, set up some security plans, and, lickety split, be back for the show. You won't even know I was gone. You should probably get something to eat, too. It's going to be a long night." 

Nodding, reluctantly agreeing to the plan, Fraser asked, "What about after the show, Ray? That's when all the break-ins happened before. Will we be spending the night at Mr. Mercy's house?" 

"His manager is supposed to arrange for security teams from Boyd's to come over and watch the house. Until then, we'll have to play it by ear, see what happens. They might not get that set up until tomorrow. If that's the case, I can't ask you to stay up all night just because I'm on assignment." 

Fraser stood straighter, his voice taking on more force. "Ray, you're not staying in the house with that man alone." 

Ray couldn't help but smile. "What? You're going to protect my honor?" 

"You don't need me to do that, Ray. I just want you to be safe." 

Warmed by the words and Fraser's intense blue eyes, Ray nodded. "Thanks, Fraser. Same here. I want you to be safe, too." 

Before Fraser had a chance to respond, Mercy stepped up and shoved his way between the two men. He wrapped an arm around Ray's shoulders and rested against him. "You two look cozy as hell." 

"Fuck off, Mercy." 

Mercy grinned. "Call me Rick, Ray." 

"I'll call you an ambulance if you don't take your arm off. I look like a fucking lamppost to you?" 

"God, I love when you talk butch." Mercy fluttered his eyelashes and then removed his arm to stand straight. He turned his attention to Fraser. "You like when he talks tough like that?" 

Fraser's words came out icy as hell, ignoring the question. "I believe we are supposed to meet with your manager." 

Mercy looked at Ray. "He always like this?" 

"Like what?" 

"All business." 

"Don't worry about him. Just answer the question. Where's your manager?" 

Annoyed, Mercy stepped away and turned to face Ray and Fraser. "He'll be here tonight. Now, are we going to my place or not?" 

Ray glanced over at Fraser, noting the troubled expression. "Don't worry, Fraser. I'll be back before eight." 

Reluctantly, Fraser nodded, but he wasn't the least bit happy with the plan. "As you wish, Ray." 

It wasn't as Ray wished at all, not even close. Walking out with Mercy and leaving Fraser behind was about as far away from his dream world as it was when he walked away from Stella. 

* * *

Mercy's place turned out to be a massive converted warehouse down by the docks. Ray checked out the huge space, white rooms sparsely furnished with all black leather and chrome. A few ashtrays dotted the surfaces, but otherwise, everything had straight, clean lines. The only splash of color came from the huge canvas portrait over the fireplace of Rick Mercy with his arm draped around Bobby Hatchett as they sang into a microphone. No mistake, Mercy still loved Bobby Hatchett whether he talked about it or not. 

"Fucking awesome, huh?" 

"It's big." 

"Fucking huge." 

"It's not what I expected." 

"What'd you expect, a pig sty, some messed up piece of shit down by the waterfront?" 

Ray heard the defensive tone and backed off. "It doesn't matter what I expected." 

"Yeah, you're right, it doesn't fucking matter. Follow me." 

Ray walked behind Mercy as he made his way through the living area, past the bar, through to the kitchen. Stainless steel appliances lined the wall and Ray thought it looked more like an industrial kitchen rather than one for a home, way too cold and too big to ever feel cozy. Mercy opened one of the refrigerators to a whole collection of beer. "Sure you won't have some? I've got imported, domestic, just about any brand you can name." 

"No, thanks. Still on duty." 

"Relax. One beer won't kill ya." 

"Tell that to your liver." 

Mercy ignored the jab and grabbed a Miller's at the front. He slammed the door shut with more force than he needed. "You want to look around first or get something to eat?" 

"Let's look around first. Walk me through the layout. I want to see your studio, too." 

Opening the bottle, Mercy threw away the cap and motioned for Ray to follow. Ray moved through the office, then past an entertainment room with a TV that took up one entire wall and a sound system that took up another. 

After that, they came to Mercy's bedroom, an inner room with no windows and empty grey walls, no paintings, no personal pictures of any kind. A large bed raised on a platform sat in the center covered with black bedding and a mountain of pillows. Other than one bedside table with a simple lamp and an ashtray, nothing else decorated the space. Ray checked the ceiling expecting mirrors, but didn't see any. All he saw was a dark cave with the bed as center stage. It made Ray twitchy, made him think about all the grunts and moans and the parade of nameless people Mercy fucked in that bed, something he so didn't want to have in his head at the moment. 

Mercy interrupted his thoughts. "What do you think?" 

"I think it's depressing." 

"Depressing?" 

"Yeah." 

"It cost a fucking fortune." 

"You paid money for someone to make it look like this? That's even more depressing." Ray turned to face Mercy, the man's piercing blue eyes studying him intently and obviously looking for approval Ray couldn't give. "You really like sleeping in a room with no windows where everything's so gloomy?" 

"Gloomy's a fucking state of mind, my friend." Mercy walked out of the room, leading Ray down the backstairs to his studio. "I sleep weird hours and shit. I like it dark." 

"Dark you've got." 

"What's your place like?" 

Surprised by the interest, Ray shrugged. "Not as big as your kitchen, but it's good enough for me and I've got windows. I don't need much." 

"I like the space." 

"You've got plenty." Ray didn't add how empty it all felt, how it made him uneasy to even be there. "You have someone come in and clean?" 

"What? You think I'm a fucking slob?" 

"I just need to know who has access to the place." 

"Oh, yeah, right. Makes sense." Mercy relaxed and nodded as he opened the door to the underground studio. "Her name's Debbie Winslow. She comes in every other day except weekends unless I need her for a party or something. She's a good worker, doesn't bitch too much, and knows the meaning of private. Her old man's in a rest home. I don't think we have to worry about Deb." 

"I just need to check." Ray scanned the high tech electronic studio and wagged his head in admiration. "This is something else." 

"Fucking cool, huh?" 

"Very." 

Mercy stepped in and picked up a guitar resting on a stand and sat down. He fingered the strings, but didn't turn on the amplifier. "Who'd have thought a punk like me would ever be mainstream enough to make money?" 

"I like your music." The praise came out before Ray could snatch it back. 

Mercy lifted his head and smiled, sitting back, even more cocky than before. "I know. I can tell a fan a mile off. You ever been to one of my shows before today?" 

"Once." 

"When?" 

"A while back." Ray hesitated, his face warm from the bad memory. 

Mercy recognized the look. "How fucked up was I?" 

"Pretty bad." 

"The show any good?" 

"The show was great." 

"Then that's all that matters." 

Ray frowned and shook his head, not really understanding the man staring back at him. "You really believe that, that it doesn't matter that you fuck yourself up like that?" When Mercy didn't answer, Ray pushed harder. "You still using?" 

"Is that the cop asking?" 

"I'm always the cop, but I'm not here to arrest you. I just want to know." 

"I'm clean." 

"But not sober." 

"I'll never be sober, man, no can do. But I don't do shit anymore. It'll be six months tomorrow. Might throw a fucking party." Mercy put the guitar back on its stand, his voice a whisper as he touched the instrument lovingly. "Surprised the hell out of me, but I finally figured out I ain't ready to die yet." 

"And when you are?" 

"Then I'll shoot my way to Heaven." 

"Or hell." 

"Most likely, yeah." 

"No wonder you live in a black and white world." 

"That what you think?" 

Ray stood straighter, realizing he'd slipped into dangerous territory, making a personal connection he needed to avoid like crazy. "It's not my business." 

"You started it. Don't be a pussy now. You think I want everything cut and dry with no color, that I fuck myself up because I can't handle shit?" 

"You tell me." 

Mercy got heated, stood up and paced the room, his hand running through his thick black hair as he pushed it behind his ear, an ear studded with heavy loops of silver. "You're a fan, you know the whole rag to riches spiel, right?" 

"I've heard it, yeah." 

"And it's true. I didn't have shit growing up, nothing but an old man who liked booze better than his family, a mom who let him beat us until we were black and blue and bloody. We lived in a broken-down trailer not fit for a fucking dog, man. I left home with Bobby when I was fourteen. Believe it or not, he had it worse than I did. At least my dad didn't fuck me on a regular basis. We were a team, Bobby and me. We swore we'd always be together." 

Mercy's voice choked. Ray never expected this kind of raw emotion, this kind of vulnerability. Mercy kept giving him more, kept laying it out like a present. "And it wasn't easy. We had it rough for a while, but we made it, just Bobby and me. We got the group going and I thought it'd be great, you know, getting rich and being able to do whatever the shit we wanted. Then I discovered the joy of a needle. Bobby got jealous." 

"Of the dope?" 

"Yeah." 

"Maybe he was just worried you'd take him down with you." 

"Fuck that. I could handle it." 

"Yeah, right." 

Mercy stopped pacing and crossed his arms, but didn't argue the point. "Doesn't matter. Thing is, once I finally decided to quit, Bobby was already gone." Mercy jabbed a finger at his own chest, seriously pissed. "Fucker left _me_. I'll never fucking forget that." 

Ray kept a check on his emotions, knowing that when Stella left, the hurt and anger nearly brought him to his knees. "Maybe he just needed something different. You said you knew him from when you were kids. People change, grow up, need different things, move on." 

"Fuck that shit. He wasn't supposed to leave, not ever." 

"Is that why you practically beat him to death that night?" 

Mercy sagged back into the chair, his face in his hands. "I'm tired. I don't know why I'm telling you all this shit. It's none of your fucking business." 

Ray agreed and gave the man an out. "You're drunk." 

"Not drunk enough." 

"You've got a show soon. Why don't you go sleep it off while I finish checking the security set up?" 

Mercy didn't look up, didn't move. "You remind me of Bobby." 

A chill washed over Ray's skin followed by an involuntary shudder. "I'm not him." 

"I fucking know that." Mercy lifted his face, his lips thinned and his eyes narrowed. "You walked into the club and the first thing I thought was, fuck, he looks like Bobby. Then you opened your mouth and you talked like him, too, same accent, same tough tone. Your lips even look like his, and your hands..." Mercy stopped himself and his voice hardened. "Fuck, I need to cut this shit out. It ain't healthy." 

Ray didn't know what to say at first, embarrassed by Mercy's admission, even more attracted than ever. Shit, he needed a good smack in the head to snap himself out of it. He didn't need Mercy, not with all that baggage. The man offered nothing but an emotional disaster, a train wreck with no survivors. "Go take a nap. I'll wake you up in time to go to the show." 

"I need to shower and eat something. I can't sleep before a show." 

"You got more than beer upstairs?" 

"Yeah, but not much. There's a list of places to call to deliver." 

"You get a lot of your meals delivered?" 

"I never cook if I can help it." 

"Shit." 

Mercy looked up, confused. "What?" 

"I need to check those, too." 

Mercy laughed and sat back. "What? You think some crazed delivery boy's going to break in and tear up all my shit and try to kill me?" 

"Depends on how many you fucked." 

"Fuck you." 

Ray stepped closer, leaning against a column beside where Mercy sat. "Look, anybody you messed over might carry a grudge. The more you help with this, the sooner this thing will be over." 

Mercy studied him harder and then pursed his lips. "You really don't like me much, do you?" 

"It doesn't matter what I like or don't like. I'm here to do the job." 

Nodding, Mercy's voice took on a sharper edge. "The job, right, being a fucking cop. How long you been doing that gig?" 

"Long enough." 

"Long enough to be good enough?" 

"For this case, yeah." 

Mercy tilted his head and then smiled like he knew a secret. "You know, you don't look like a Vecchio." 

Ray stood a little straighter, more on guard. "Not everybody gets to pick his name like you did, Mr. Sammy Finklestein." 

"Ouch." Mercy grabbed his chest, faking serious pain. "Fuck. That hurts. Guess you really are a fan. I tried to bury that shit deep, but it keeps floating to the surface." 

"Shit does that. Don't blame you for changing your name, though." 

"You sure you didn't change yours?" 

Ray didn't bother to answer. "Look, just go upstairs, take your shower, and then make me a list of those names from the deliveries. I'm going to finish up here and then call Boyd's to see if your manager's made the arrangements for security yet." 

Mercy got up and saddled up beside Ray, his voice low and husky. "Bossy cops are a real turn on. You got a uniform you could wear for dress up?" 

"Cut it out, Mercy." 

"I told you to call me Rick." 

"I'd rather stick with Mercy. Now get going." Mercy ran a hand up Ray's arm and captured the back of his neck, not pulling or pushing, just resting it there, all warm and getting warmer. "Hands off." 

"Call me Rick first." 

Ray debated, struggled with whether to give in or hold his own ground. As fingers teased his skin and played with his hair, he closed his eyes, his breathing a little faster. Mercy smelled of stale cigarettes and beer, of sweat and musk, and a clear invitation to so much more. "We've got no time for this." 

"Maybe later, after the show?" 

"I can't." 

"But you want to." 

Ray opened his eyes, his throat tight, knowing he so didn't want to want Mercy. "I can't. Now, get your hand off and just go do what I asked." 

Hesitating, Rick nodded and then smiled knowingly before backing off. "You like Chinese?" 

For a moment, Ray couldn't think, didn't understand the question. After a few seconds, blood returned to his brain and the meaning sank in. "Yeah, I could eat." 

"Good. I'll order us something. You can talk to Kim in person if you want." 

"You fucked Kim?" 

Rick laughed as he turned and headed up the stairs. "I'm into diversity, so fucking sue me." 

Controlling the impulse to call after Rick, to beg him to return and touch him again, Ray sagged down into the nearby chair. He held his head as he muttered to himself, "I am so fucking fucked here." 

* * *

Kim turned out to be Asian jailbait, barely old enough to drive, but with soulful dark eyes that made him look a hell of a lot older. Ray grumbled and paid for the meal, gave the kid a tip, and didn't bother to ask any questions. 

Rick came into the kitchen bare-chested, wearing only tight jeans and rubbing his hair dry with a white towel. Despite all the booze, the guy still had a great body, flat stomach with well-defined muscles under naturally light brown skin. A few inches shorter than Ray with broad shoulders and narrow hips, Rick weighed at least thirty pounds more than Ray did. Mercy had Bobby tattooed in crude letters right under his navel. It looked like a homemade ink job, something he'd done himself or maybe let Bobby do for him. Ray wondered if Bobby Hatchett had Rick permanently inked in anywhere on his body and how it made him feel now that it was over. 

Rick sniffed at the bags of food while Ray got some plates out of a cabinet. "Smells good. You talk to Kim?" 

"You're lucky your ass isn't in jail, asshole, and you owe me $38.50." Ray added the cost of the tip just to be contrary. 

"What the fuck are you talking about, jail?" 

"The kid's barely sixteen." 

"Barely's all that counts." 

Ray didn't bother to argue. "I want my money." 

Rick laughed as he threw the towel over the back of the chair. "All the places that deliver here run a tab. You got played, my friend, very well, too. Looks like Kim ain't just a pretty face with a tight ass." 

"Fuck." 

Rick reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of twenties, tossing them on the table in front of Ray. "Here. It's no big deal. Next time you'll know. Cheap lesson." 

Ray ignored the money as he scooped out some rice and then explored the six boxes of different dishes. He settled on the sesame chicken and spooned some on his rice. "What makes you think there'll be a next time?" 

"Instinct." Rick handed him a beer. 

"I'm still on duty." 

"Fuck that. Have a beer. It's either that or mixer from the bar. I had a blow out last weekend and Deb's hasn't restocked yet." 

Reluctantly, Ray took the beer and ate some of his food. Rick settled across from him, fixing his own dish of sweet and sour pork. After he took a couple of bites, Rick washed it down with the beer, and then sat back. "You hear from Alex yet about the extra security?" 

"Yeah. Boyd's sent a couple of guys over to the club and there are two guys sitting outside right now." 

"Outside here?" 

"Yeah. They'll be here around the clock, one in the back, one in the front. Anybody comes in here or goes out, those guys will see him. Before we leave, I'll set up the radio so that you can call them at night if you hear something or if somebody gets past them. You shouldn't have a repeat of what happened last time." 

"What about you? If you're not going to be here to bodyguard, what'll you be doing?" 

"Working with Fraser to find out who's behind this." Ray wiped his mouth with a napkin and then pulled out his notebook. "I've listed some more people to talk to and I want to check on some leads. Fraser's interviewing your band and people who work at the club. He's got a good nose for people, can smell a lie a mile off." Ray took a drink and then added, "The security here's pretty good. Whoever broke in, he had your code, had to, no other way from what I can see." 

"I changed them each time." 

"And each time he got in without setting off the alarm. Now, either this guy has the code or has a way around it like some kind of electronic device. My money's on somebody close." Sitting back, Ray kept his voice steady. "So, Rick, who do you give your security code to besides your housekeeper?" 

"You really think it's somebody close like that?" 

"Probably, yeah. Answer the question." 

Rick rubbed his unshaved face with one hand, obviously disturbed by the suggestion. "Alex, my manager, all the guys in the band, Tripp, Lane, Barry. There's also a couple of sound men who work in the studio. Nobody else has it." 

"No tricks, nobody you slept with?" 

"No, never." 

Ray paused for effect. "I've got the code." 

"Yeah, but..." 

"I asked who had it and you didn't say me." 

"What's your fucking point here?" 

"I need a complete list." 

Rick took a deep breath, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Bobby." 

"Bobby Hatchett has your security code?" 

"I send it to him every time I change it." 

Ray had a hard time taking in the confession, but he tried to keep the surprise out of his expression and to keep his voice neutral. Being a hard-nosed cop paid off sometimes. "How do you send it?" 

"I mail it." 

"Mail it? Regular mail or email?" 

Crossing his arms over his chest, his head down, his eyes closed, Rick bit his lower lip. "I have to mail it because he blocks my email." 

"You think if he does that, he bothers to open a letter?" 

"Maybe." 

"So he might or he might not have your code." 

"Yeah." 

Both men remained silent a while longer. Appetite gone, Ray took another drink and then cleared his throat. "If it's any consolation, I doubt that Hatchett's got anything to do with this." 

"Yeah?" 

"We checked and he's not taken a flight to Chicago during the times of any of the break-ins and he was on stage for two of the times." 

Ray saw the relief, saw how Rick relaxed suddenly and leaned forward, his elbows on the table and his hands fisted in front of his face. "Thank god." 

"You could've check that yourself." 

"Yeah, I could've." 

"But you didn't because you were scared it might be him." 

"Maybe." 

"Or maybe you were more afraid of hoping that it was Bobby, afraid of hoping that maybe he still cared enough to try to hurt you." 

"Fuck you." Pissed, Rick Mercer stood up, picked up his towel, and then turned his back on Ray. Instead of denying the charge, he called over his shoulder. "We leave for the club in ten minutes. Get your ass moving." 

Ray didn't bother to get up, just finished his beer and pondered how the hell he could still get hard over a twisted fuck like Mercy. 

* * *

After the openness of Rick's place, the club made Ray claustrophobic. A crush of bodies packed the dim space even though the first set didn't start for another hour. Pushing through the crowd and the smoky air, Ray ignored the complaints and the grumbled profanities as he made his way to the back wall. 

Ray screamed to be heard. "Hey, Fraser. Let's hit the office and talk." 

Fraser smiled, obviously relieved and happy to see him. "With pleasure, Ray." 

They walked back to Mercy's office without speaking. Ray knocked, got no answer, and walked in. Once inside, he closed the door. The music and noise stopped. Ray nodded with approval. "Good sound proofing job." 

"Good God, Ray, it's a wonder these people aren't as deaf as Diefenbaker." 

"Who says they're not?" 

Fraser didn't answer, but glanced around the room. "Do we have permission to be in Mr. Mercy's private office?" 

"Sure. He's out front meeting the public and getting loaded before the show." 

Fraser frowned with disapproval and sat down in one of the chairs by the desk. "I must admit he does seem to have a rather high tolerance for the excesses of alcohol." 

"Years of practice." 

"No doubt." 

Ray settled behind the desk and pulled out his notebook. He pinched the bridge of his nose, the headache getting worse. The quiet helped, but the pressure behind his eyes didn't give up. He focused his mind on the case, blocking out all the conflicting images of Mercy in his head. "So, Fraser, please tell me you've cracked the case and we can go home." 

"I'm afraid not, Ray. However, I did have some very interesting and productive conversations with the band members." 

Ray glanced up and smiled, hoping like hell that Fraser had it all figured out Mountie-style. "Oh, yeah? Lay it out for me." 

"To start, I would recommend we look more closely at the drummer, Tripp Henderson. He seems to harbor the most complicated and ambiguous emotions concerning Mr. Mercy." 

"What do you mean, complicated and ambiwhatever?" 

"Ambiguous. It means..." 

"I know what it means. Just tell me what it means when you're talking about Tripp." 

"Ah, well, he appears unsure of his own feelings. On the one hand, he admires and seems rather adoring of his leader. He spoke very highly of Mr. Mercy's voice, his appearance, and even his skill at handling their image despite personal setbacks. I believe he was referring to Mr. Mercy's drug problems and his previous relationship with Mr. Hatchett." 

"Yeah, probably." 

"However, on further discussion, he also showed great disdain for some aspects of Mr. Mercy's character." 

"What about his character?" 

Fraser dipped his head, not meeting Ray's eyes. "I believe he mentioned the promiscuity in particular." 

That got Ray's goat in a big way. "Tripp Henderson's a hypocrite, Fraser. He sleeps around as much as Mercy." 

Fraser raised his head. "How do you know that, Ray?" 

"It's common knowledge." 

"The term common knowledge implies that many people know about this, Ray. I'm not sure that's an accurate assessment." 

Ray leaned back, closing his eyes briefly as he rubbed the sides of his head with both hands. The achy throb got worse, started to set up a serious foothold right across his forehead and down the back of his neck. "Look, Rick told me that Tripp and him share lovers sometimes. From everything I've heard, Tripp goes for the groupie types and ain't shy about it any more than Rick is." 

"Rick?" 

Ray shrugged, his face a bit warmer. "Yeah, Mercy." 

"You call him Rick?" 

Fraser's hurt tone surprised him. Ray glanced up and met his partner's searching eyes. "Yeah, so?" 

Hesitating slightly, Fraser tugged his right ear. "Are you sure it's a good idea to get involved with Mr. Mercy to a point of being on a first name basis?" 

"Involved? I'm not _involved_ with Mercy. I'm on a case." 

"I didn't mean anything untoward, Ray." 

"You sure about that?" 

"I didn't mean to make you angry." 

"I'm not angry." 

"Your tone would suggest otherwise." 

"Fuck my tone, Fraser." 

"Ray..." 

Ray took a deep calming breath and cut in. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bark. It's just I've got this killer headache and I want a cigarette so bad I could kill for a smoke." 

"You don't smoke, Ray." 

"Not now, not since I took this job, but I used to. Being around the club, well, it just makes me want to start up again." 

"I would think the second hand smoke alone would be enough to abate that craving." 

Ray snorted. "Joke, Fraser? I didn't know Mounties joked." 

"I wasn't joking, Ray." 

The twitch in Fraser's lip said differently, but Ray didn't argue the point. Instead, he checked out his partner really closely and then frowned. "You've been combing your hair." 

Fraser's hand went automatically to his head. "I'm sorry, Ray. I just couldn't maintain it." 

"Like an itch, huh?" 

"Itch?" 

Smiling, his voice teasing, Ray explained. "Like an itch that had to be scratched." 

Fraser smiled at the understanding. "Yes, exactly. Besides, I don't think for one moment that I was fooling anyone. The hair only made me look silly." 

"It made you look hot." Ray realized what he'd blurted out the instant the words hit the air, so he backpedaled as fast as he could. "I mean, you looked cool, but the hair doesn't make the man, right? It's not like a good-looking guy like you even needs hair. Combed, uncombed, you've got the hair of greatness. People would kill for your hair." 

"Ray, you're blithering." 

"Fuck." Ray covered his face with his hands and wanted to dig a hole somewhere, a hole that that would bury him before he buried himself any deeper. "I'm sorry, Fraser. Didn't mean to call you hot." 

"It's quite all right, Ray. That is to say, I wasn't offended. If I take the meaning correctly, I'm flattered." 

Ray risked a peek to get the full picture. "You're flattered?" 

"Certainly, Ray. I appreciate the compliment." 

"You're welcome." 

Neither man spoke for a few moments and then Ray cleared his throat, still off kilter from his screw up. "Okay, I guess we should talk about the case. So, you think Tripp might have done the break-ins because he's jealous or something?" 

"He could be responsible, but I believe we also have to check Lane Davis, the bass player. He, too, has some serious issues with Mr. Mercy." 

"Which are?" 

"Mr. Mercy apparently makes a habit of berating him in public. He seemed very tense when he related a particular incident which involved spittle and venomous comments." 

"Spittle?" 

"Mr. Mercy spit on him when he missed a cue." 

"You mean spit on him more than usual?" 

Fraser tilted his head, puzzled. "More than usual, Ray? I wasn't aware that spitting on people was a common occurrence during most musical performances." 

"It's not. But these guys do it, have from the start. They all spit." 

"They spit?" 

"Yeah, all the time. It's part of the show." 

"That sounds very unsanitary, Ray." 

Ray snorted to himself. "Oh, yeah, Mr. I lick boots for a living." 

Fraser blushed and sat a little straighter, suddenly defensive. "There's a reason for me to taste for trace evidence, Ray. What's the point of spitting on people?" 

"No point. They just do it. So why's Lane Davis so bent out of shape over this one time?" 

"I believe it had something to do with the inclusion of more than just spittle." 

Ray got the point and screwed up his face in disgust. "Fuck. Are you saying that Rick shot him a goober?" 

"Goober?" 

"Snot, nasty stuff that comes out of..." 

"I get the point, Ray. Yes, that's what I'm saying." 

"That's gross." 

"Indeed, which is why it was a point of contention between them for some time." 

Ray crossed his arms as he considered the theory and then shook his head. "Still, that's no reason to take a hammer to the guy's stuff." 

"Possibly. Which brings me to Barry Goldman." 

"The lead guitar, the guy who replaced Bobby?" 

Fraser nodded. "Mr. Goldman wants out of the contract. He might have motive to destroy the recording studio more than the others. After all, we only have Mr. Mercy's word of the attempted assault and by his own account, he went down to the studio during the attack. The intruder did not go into the living area, but was destroying equipment downstairs." 

"That's true." 

"As for the other break-ins, they all allegedly occurred when Mr. Mercy wasn't home. I don't think this person wants to physically harm him. In fact, I think we might be dealing with two different people." 

Ray frowned, not sure how his partner would come to that conclusion. "Two? Why two?" 

"The first three break-ins have a different MO than the last one." 

"Yeah, Rick shot a whole clip on the last job." 

"Just the fact that he was there makes that incident different from the others. No, I was referring to the nature of the attacks. In the first three, personal items were destroyed. In the last one, it was only recording equipment which was wrecked, nothing personal." 

Ray resisted. "You really think we've got two whackos instead of just one?" 

"I'm merely stating the possibility." 

Reluctantly, Ray nodded. "Yeah, you might be right. You have a chance to check on the whereabouts of these guys on the nights of the attacks?" 

"Not yet, no. I took down the alibis, but I haven't had the opportunity to confirm the information." 

"I can do that tomorrow." Ray scratched his head as he glanced down at his notes. "Any mention of a guy named Emerson? Don't know if that's a first or a last name." 

"No, no Emerson was mentioned." 

"Any woman with a B name?" 

"B name?" 

"Mercy wasn't sure. He said he had a thing with some woman named Beth or Bertha, some B name, and she threatened to kill him." 

Fraser pursed his lips like he'd tasted something nasty, something far worse than bok choy on a dead guy's boots. "I see." 

"See what? We already know he sleeps around. Did you run across any B names?" 

"No B names for women, no." 

"What's that mean?" 

Fraser rubbed his eyebrow and frowned. "Bobby Hatchett's name was frequently mentioned." 

"How so?" 

"In Mr. Goldman's case, he said Mr. Mercy is constantly comparing him to Mr. Hatchett, something that Mr. Goldman finds extremely annoying." 

Ray thought about his own situation, being the second Ray, having to bear the comparisons, not always feeling like the winner. "Yeah, I get that. Who else mentioned him?" 

"Mr. Henderson. Apparently, the group dynamic changed drastically when Mr. Hatchett left the band." 

"I'll bet." 

"According to Mr. Henderson, Mr. Hatchett was, for the most part, a calming influence on Mr. Mercy's mercurial moods." 

"Mercurial?" 

"Volatile, having an abrupt change of mood with little or no reason." 

Ray shrugged. "Sounds like me." 

"Indeed." 

Startled, Ray met his partner's keen gaze. "That a bad thing?" 

"Not in and of itself. It depends on the situation." 

"And how much sleep you've had when you have to deal with it?" 

Fraser smiled in agreement. "Somewhat, yes. I must confess that it took some adjustment on my part not to be disconcerted by your perpetual emotional shifts." 

"You adjusted pretty good." 

"Well." 

"Well what?" 

"I adjusted well, not good." 

"I said that." 

"No, what you said was..." 

"Fraser, shut up." 

"Right you are, Ray." 

Ray sat back, the headache making a huge comeback. "Look, Rick's a wreck without Bobby. He puts on a front, but he told me some things that make it clear he ain't over his partner yet. Probably never will be." 

"What things did he tell you?" 

"Personal things." 

"Ah." 

"Ah what?" 

"Personal as in not part of the investigation." 

Annoyed at the critical tone, Ray rubbed both eyes with the heel of his hands. "Look, not everything Rick and I talked about is part of the investigation. I just wanted to get a feel for the guy." 

"A feel, Ray? Is that what you call it?" 

Ray jerked his head up, not sure if he'd heard right. "What?" 

Instead of repeating his comment, Fraser's voice softened. "I'm just concerned, Ray. You don't seem yourself on this case." 

"Don't seem myself? What's that supposed to mean?" 

"It means your attraction to Mr. Mercy seems to have affected your professional objectivity about what's important to the case and what's not." 

Ray couldn't meet Fraser's eyes, couldn't defend himself against the accurate judgment. Being pissed wouldn't help, wouldn't solve the problem, so he tried something else. "You ever have that happen, Fraser? You ever meet someone and right away it's like someone kicked you in the head, like you couldn't think straight when this person got close?" 

Fraser hesitated, but then nodded. "Yes." 

"What'd you do?" 

"You know what I did." 

Ray frowned, confused. "I do?" 

"Victoria." 

A kick start to the brain and Ray remembered. "Oh, yeah, her." 

"Yes, her." 

"Then you know what it's like." 

"Which is why I'm worried about you. I don't mean this as a criticism, Ray, but you do tend to fixate." 

"Fixate?" 

"Become obsessive, get preoccupied..." 

"Lose my mind." 

"I wouldn't go that far, Ray. You've always been able to stop yourself before things got too out of hand." 

"Or Stella slapped me with a restraining order." 

Fraser didn't say anything and Ray sat back and fingered the edge of his notebook. "You don't seem to care that Mercy's a guy." 

"Excuse me?" 

"Doesn't it bother you that I'm attracted to a man?" 

"Ray, your sexual preferences haven't been a mystery to me for some time now." 

That caught Ray's attention in a hurry. "What? I don't get that." 

"It's been obvious for a while that your attraction to people isn't governed by gender." 

"What people?" 

"Attractive people mostly." 

Ray got heated, wanted to know what the hell Fraser meant. "Like who?" 

"Well, there's Stella." 

"Of course there's Stella. Who else?" 

"Francesca." 

"Frannie's my sister, Fraser. That's not even funny." 

Fraser shook his head as he explained. "She's not your real sister, Ray, and the unresolved sexual tension between you two is probably the reason you tend to bicker so much." 

Ray couldn't believe Fraser missed the jealousy angle on that bickering thing. "You're nuts. I'm not attracted to Frannie, not like that." 

"If you say so, Ray." 

"Hell, yeah, I say so. So, who else you got?" 

"Luanne Russell." 

"I meant guys." 

"Well, there's Sam Franklin for one." 

Ray couldn't breathe, couldn't make his lungs take in air for several long moments. How the fuck did Fraser do that? "What makes you think I had eyes for Franklin?" 

Fraser sat back, his hands on the side of the chair as he spoke calmly, like he did when he told one of his Inuit stories. "It's interesting that you should use that expression, Ray, because the way you looked at Inspector Franklin made it very apparent that you did more than respect his skills as an investigator." 

"Fuck." 

"Ray..." 

"Just be quiet." Ray covered his eyes and lowered his head to the desk. He didn't move right away, razor-sharp pains shooting through his brain. After a few more moments, he mumbled, the words muffled by his face-down position. "Why didn't you say something?" 

"You said to be quiet." 

"Fraser..." 

"What was there to say, Ray? I don't believe for a moment that you acted on that attraction since you were married to Stella when you worked with the Inspector. What would be the point of mentioning it?" 

Ray sat back up, still holding the side of his head in case his brain wanted to leak out, not that he really thought he could catch it. "You still could've said something." 

"Perhaps, but I thought it might be an uncomfortable subject for you, so I didn't." 

"So why are you saying something now?" 

"Because I'm worried about your reaction to Mr. Mercy. As I mentioned before, I don't trust him." 

"You don't know him." 

"True enough. However, I do remember you saying I needed to hone my instincts more, to go with my intestines." 

"Intestines? You mean, go with your gut?" 

"Yes, yes, that's it. My gut." 

Ray swallowed hard. "And your gut is telling you that Rick's trouble." 

"Screaming more like." Fraser suddenly shifted in his chair. "That is to say, Ray, I'm worried. I don't like the way he looks at you." 

"Or how I look at him?" 

Fraser ducked, glancing away quickly, not meeting Ray's gaze. "You're not a casual person, Ray. I don't believe Mr. Mercy has your best interests at heart." 

"No, Fraser, I know that." Ray bit his lower lip, sick of the whole conversation. "Look, I know he's out for one thing, but sometimes, sometimes that's not always a bad thing." 

"Ray, there are diseases." 

"Jesus, Fraser. You think I'm stupid?" 

"Of course not. I never meant..." 

"Then don't say shit like that. I'm not going to go out and be dumb no matter what it looks like." Ray ran a nervous hand through his hair. "I know I was married a long time, took that whole sex thing for granted, but I know guys who've messed up, got sick, died even. I'm not doing that for anybody. I can handle myself." 

"I'm pleased to hear that, Ray." 

Anger writhed inside him, that sanctimonious, know-it-all tone too much all at once. Ray stood up, closed the notebook, and slipped it back into his pocket. "Then hear this. For somebody who's so damn smart and observant, you don't see shit. You don't see what's right under your nose. Maybe that's because you're too close." Ray stepped around the desk and leaned in, his face only a few inches from Fraser's. "Step back and look again. See what you've missed while you were so busy keeping an eye on me. Figure out who really turns my crank and then we'll talk about me being stupid." 

"I don't understand, Ray." 

Shaking his head, Ray stepped to the door, and spoke just as before he opened it and walked out. "Yeah, tell me about it." 

* * *

Ray spent the rest of the night watching Mercy spin a web of seduction over the crowd. He always knew the guy could turn a head, but put him in front of a microphone and he got drop dead gorgeous in a big way. That edgy, sultry voice went right to the heart, made the head spin with promise. He made the girls wet and the guys hard, made them all swell with need and longing for more. Energy poured off the man, made everyone hungry for a piece of that fantasy. Just a chance to touch him, just to be in his line of sight for a moment made a whole lot of people keep coming back for more. No wonder the guy made a fortune singing in his own club, going on tours, and selling platinum CDs all over the world. 

Halfway through the second set, Rick called out to the crowd, "Listen up, fuckers. This one's for my new best friend, Ray." 

Ray's head came up and he locked eyes with Mercy, who smiled that cocky grin that made Ray want to get fucked right then and there. Rick threw him the finger and then started singing about lost chances and heartbreak. Ray got the message and smiled back with an obscene gesture of his own. Son of a bitch loved to screw with people's heads and had a lot of practice at getting whatever the hell he wanted. Shaking his head with frustration, Ray turned back to the bar and finished off his beer. 

When the set ended, Mercy moved in beside him, an arm draped over his shoulders. Sweat pouring down his face, his voice raspy from singing too hard and too long, Rick leaned in. "Come home with me." 

"I can't." 

"Come on. We'll have the rest of that Chinese and just shoot the shit. I need to wind down after a show." 

Ray closed his eyes, flattered more than he wanted to admit. He took a deep breath, praying for more willpower. "Forget about it. I'm on a case." 

Rick didn't give up. "Look, I won't make a move if you don't want it, but I don't want to be alone tonight." Rick leaned in closer, his mouth only a few inches away. "Don't make me beg, man." 

"Then don't." 

"Don't you ever just want to be with somebody, not just to fuck, but just to be with?" 

Fraser's face popped into his head and Ray nodded with complete understanding. "Yeah, I get that." 

A hand touched his arm, fingers wrapping his wrist. "Come home with me, Ray. I mean it." 

Ray met bloodshot blue eyes, the intensity like fire. "I'm not Bobby." 

"I know that." 

"You sure?" 

"Yeah, I'm sure." 

Against his better judgment, Ray nodded and stood straighter. "I've got to tell Fraser." 

"He's in the back with Alex." 

Frowning, Ray shifted. "Why's he's in the back with your manager?" 

"Beats me. I figure it's about the attacks or some shit. The guy never takes a break, one of those type A fuckers." 

Ray's voice hardened. "What'd I say about talking about Fraser?" 

Lifting his hands in surrender, Rick smiled and changed the subject. "We going to take your wheels home?" 

"Why not take yours?" 

"I sent my driver home already." 

"Fuck you. What if I'd said no." 

Rick moved in closer, his groin pressed into Ray's. "Look around, Ray. I've got a lot of options, but you're the one I want." 

Ray pushed him away, but leaned his face in so he had Rick's full attention. "Keep acting like an asshole and you'll need'em. Now, I'm going to go talk to Fraser, then I'll be back." 

Rick never stopped smiling as Ray stormed off, more pissed at himself than Mercy. 

Ray found Fraser alone in Rick's office. "I thought you were talking to the mystery manager, Alex Rich." 

"I was. He just left." 

"And?" 

"And what, Ray?" 

"What'd he say? Did he have some clue or theory about what's going on?" 

Fraser reached over and picked up his leather jacket. He spoke as he slipped it back on, but he never looked over at Ray. "He proposes that we're wasting our time questioning the band members. He thinks our focus should be on protecting his client and looking for some jealous rival singer, a theory I find ludicrous." Fraser finally glanced over at Ray. "In all honesty, I got the definite impression the man's hiding something." 

"Like what?" 

"That's yet to be discovered, but we should add him to the list of possible suspects." 

"Already done. Me, I talked to the guy on the phone and I got a real vibe that he's not in this because of his love for Rick." 

Fraser stopped at the use of Mercy's first name and studied Ray with concern. "You've been drinking." 

"Just a few beers." 

"While on duty?" 

"Lay off, Fraser. I'm fine." 

Fraser's lips thinned like they did when he forced himself to hold back. Finally, he whispered, "It's late, Ray. Let's not argue. Let's go home, get some rest, and start fresh in the morning." 

Embarrassed, not sure how to say it without getting a lecture, Ray just said it. "I'm going home with Rick." 

"Ray..." 

"Don't say anything. I know what I'm doing. I swear, we're just going to talk. I won't stay the whole night." 

"How long you stay is up to you, Ray, but I advise against this." 

"I already figured that. Look, I'm driving so get a cab home and I'll pay." 

"That's not necessary." 

"Sure it is. You're on a case, so it's my treat. Besides, this place is too far away from anywhere to walk when you don't have Dief or me at your back." 

His features grim, Fraser reluctantly agreed. "Thank you, Ray." 

"Sure thing." As he turned to leave, he found Fraser's hand on his arm. "What?" 

"Be careful." 

"You don't trust me?" 

"Do you trust yourself?" 

Ray shrugged. "I don't know. Mostly." Meeting Fraser's eyes, he removed his arm from his partner's touch. "Don't worry. I'll be fine." 

As Ray moved down the hall, he got his keys out and refused to look back, knowing that if he did, he'd never walk away. 

* * *

Mercy had his latest music piped into all the rooms, including the bathroom, at the push of a button. Arrogant prick sure liked the sound of his own voice. 

Ray finished off another beer. "You want to turn that stuff off?" 

Rick frowned. "Why?" 

"I thought you wanted to talk." 

Mercy walked over to the wall and cut off the sound. "Better?" 

"Thanks." 

Sitting down next to Ray on the sofa, Rick took a cigarette from his pack and lit up. He took a long drag and glanced over. "Tell me about your partner." 

"What'd I say about that?" 

"Look, I told you about me and Bobby. Tell me about this guy Fraser." 

"No." 

"No?" 

"No." 

"Stubborn fucker." 

Ray smiled and leaned back, his arm stretched out over the back of the sofa. The beers made him fuzzy, all kind of easy under his skin despite the heat of Mercy's body so close by. "Fraser's my partner, my good buddy, the one person I trust in the whole world. That's all you need to know." 

"But why him?" 

"It's a long story." 

"It's a long night." 

"Forget about it. Move on." 

"Okay. Show me your gun." 

"My gun?" 

"Yeah, show me your gun. Take it out." 

Ray reached under his arm and pulled his gun, holding it up, safety still on. As Rick reached out, Ray shook his head. "Don't." 

"Why not?" 

"It's not a toy." 

"Put it over there on the table out of the way." 

"Why?" 

"Just do it." 

Stella always hated his gun, too, so he put it over on the table, and waited, wondering what the hell Rick really wanted. Mercy puffed some more on his cigarette and picked up his beer. "Why'd you want to be a cop?" 

"Why'd you want to be a singer?" 

"Had to be." 

"Same here. Next question." 

"Ever been married?" 

Ray closed his eyes. No way did he want to talk about Stella or pretend to be Vecchio. "Next question." 

"Wanna mess around?" 

Laughing out loud, Ray shook his head. "Fucking one-track mind." Ray jerked back and opened his eyes as a finger traced his lower lip. 

"Sexy mouth, man." 

"Don't." 

"Don't what? Touch you? Make you feel good? Don't what?" Rick put down his beer and cigarette and eased in even closer. His hand cupped Ray's face as he whispered huskily, "What the fuck are you so afraid of?" 

Moving away should've been easy, should've been a breeze. Instead, Ray let it happen, let Rick kiss him, allowed the singer to shove his tongue in his mouth while his hand explored between Ray's legs. Suddenly dizzy, Ray's head swam with both desire and fear, fear of letting it go too far, of not being able to stop, of not wanting it to stop. 

Rick moaned into his mouth, tasting of wet ashes. "God, you're so fucking hot. I want to fuck you so bad, man." 

Pulling back just enough to suck in air, Ray shook his head. "I can't." 

"You can. I'll make it easy." Rick pushed him down on the wide sofa, spreading his weight over Ray. He ground into him, Rick's jeans already unzipped as his erection rubbed against Ray's thigh. 

Grabbing both Ray's wrists, he held them up over Ray's head against the leather of the sofa. "I've wanted to fuck you all day, all fucking day." 

No longer uncertain, Ray shoved his hips up and tried to pull away. "Cut it out. Enough of this shit." 

Mercy just laughed, a deep, throaty sound, a warning as loud as a siren. Panicked, Ray struggled harder, but didn't have the strength to get loose, not against the larger man. Still struggling, he rasped, "Get the fuck off." 

Instead of releasing him, Rick smiled and humped faster, still holding Ray's arms above his head. "Make me." 

"Fuck you." Ray fought even harder, but Mercy's thirty pound weight advantage and the extra beers didn't give Ray much of a chance to break free. "I swear to god, I'll press charges." 

"Who the fuck would believe you?" 

The words took the fight right out of him, made him still, made him see the whole set up. Son of a bitch. "You fucker." 

"You love it." 

Ray took a deep breath, called on all his reserve, and suddenly twisted underneath the heavier man. It gave him just enough leverage to buck Mercy off and then to scramble to his feet. He stood, feet apart, fists balled and ready to fight. 

Stunned, Mercy struggled to sit up, using one hand to brace himself against the couch and the other to push up from the floor. He settled on the sofa and stared up at Ray in disbelief. "What the fuck's your problem?" 

"You." 

"Me? I'm not the one putting out all the 'fuck me' signals." 

"Touch me again and I'll pop you." 

Mercy shook his head and held up a hand. "Don't bother." 

Relaxing slightly, Ray didn't move any closer. "You done? You through fucking around?" 

"Apparently." 

"Good. Now, what the fuck did you think you were doing?" 

"I thought I was going to get lucky." 

"You thought wrong. I'm a cop. I'm on a case." 

"Didn't feel like a cop when we were necking." 

Ray blushed and nodded as he took a deep breath. "Yeah, well, I lapsed, but I'm not stupid enough to let things go that far, not when I'm on a case." 

Mercy looked up, his face again hopeful. "And when the case is over?" 

Ray shook his head, trying as hard to convince himself as much as Mercy. "I don't need this shit. You're too fucked up." 

"Yeah? Well, at least I'm not pretending to be straight. I'm not the one walking around hard for his partner and getting turned on by a rock star." 

The attack made Ray's head swim. "No, you're just the asshole who needs a good kick in the head." 

"And you think you're the one to do it?" 

"Maybe." 

Without embarrassment, Mercy stood up, stuffed his wilting dick back in his pants and zipped up. "You want a beer?" 

"A beer? After what you just did?" 

"What'd I do? I tried to get some? It didn't work. Nobody got hurt. It wasn't like I slapped you around and tied you to the fucking bedposts." Mercy smiled, his face suddenly lustful again. "Though that sounds pretty fucking hot." 

"You're a sick fuck." 

"So I've heard. What about the beer?" 

"I should go home." 

"Go. I'm not stopping you." Mercy's voice softened as he took a step closer to Ray, not touching, standing only a few inches away. "I like you, Ray. I'm not going to lie. I want to fuck you. I want to fuck you more than I've wanted to fuck anybody in a long time. If that freaks you out, that's your problem, not mine." 

"I'm not freaked out." 

"Seen your face lately? Looks freaked out to me." 

Ray swallowed hard and worked to find a steady voice. "I don't do casual. I won't just jump into bed and fuck because it feels good." 

Mercy nodded, his eyes bright, his hand easing its way to the back of Ray's neck, his fingers teasing the edge of Ray's hair. "What if I told you, I was tired of casual?" 

"I wouldn't believe you." 

"Smart guy." 

Ray stiffened as Mercy drew him closer, resting his forehead against Ray's. "But I'm willing to give it a shot if you'll let me." 

Thinning air made it hard to breathe, hard to form words. "Why me? Is it because I look like Bobby?" 

"Maybe at first, but not now." Mercy lifted his head, meeting Ray's blue eyes, his voice suddenly more raw. "You want me to make this more than a casual fuck, I can do that. I've done it before. I never thought I'd get a second chance, not since Bobby. Come on. Meet me half way here." 

Dizzy from the words, Ray still didn't believe it. "I'm not sure I want this." 

"Because of your partner?" 

"Yeah." 

"Fair enough." Mercy stood straighter and dropped his hand to Ray's shoulder. "But I want this. I want to give this thing between us a shot. I think you should at least try it out before you turn it down for something you don't even really have yet, might never get." 

"But I might get it someday. I just haven't had the balls to bring it up." 

Rick cupped his face, his hand firm, but gentle at the same time. His thumb traced the edge of Ray's lower lip. "Meanwhile, you've got me, willing and able. Which do you want, someone who wants you for sure or someone you probably can't get?" 

His defenses lazy, Ray sighed. "What if I want both?" 

"I don't share." Rick leaned in, Ray's face captured with both hands, his hungry eyes searching for resistance and finding none. Ray relaxed into the kiss, accepting the rough probes of the tongue, the rusty swell to the back of his throat as Rick shoved him against the wall and ruthlessly crushed all his protests. In the back of his mind, Ray knew that Fraser would never share, either, but for the moment his starved body didn't much care. 

* * *

Stumbling down his hallway, key in hand, Ray stopped in his tracks. His partner stood there leaning against the wall, hat in his hand, patiently waiting. "Fraser?" 

"Ray. We need to talk." 

Fuck. Ray stood a little straighter, putting on his game face, the one he saved for the really tough cases. "It's three in the morning. Go home." Fraser frowned and stepped closer, lifting his hand to Ray's face. Flinching away, Ray shook his head. "Don't." 

"Your bottom lip is injured." 

"Don't worry about it. It's not a big deal." 

"How did you do it?" 

"None of your business." 

Fraser nodded, his eyes definitely unhappy. "We still need to talk." 

"Guess you'd better come in then." Ray unlocked the door and Fraser followed him in, keeping quiet. "I need to use the can." 

"I'll make tea." 

"Sure. Coffee for me." 

"As you wish." 

Like what Ray wished had anything to do with anything at the moment. Ray headed to the bathroom and checked himself out in the mirror. Bruised eyes stared back. He wiped away the blood from the swollen lip, grateful that Rick hadn't marked him any place else that Fraser could see right off the bat. What the fuck was he thinking? Making out and getting off with Mercy only made things worse, made him more confused about what to do. He needed to put everything on hold until after the case. Then he'd decide what to do about Mercy and Fraser. 

Walking into the living room, he found Fraser leaning back against the counter drinking tea. Fraser picked up a mug, poured the coffee, and handed it to him. "Sugar?" 

"I'll get it." 

Fraser didn't argue, just waited while Ray doctored his drink. Ray sat uneasily at the table, both hands around his mug. He didn't drink it, just sat there until Fraser came to the table and joined him. Ray didn't meet his partner's gaze as he spoke quietly. "Mercy doesn't want you there tomorrow." 

"I'm sure he doesn't." 

"Anyway, you're off the case." 

"I'm on the case as long as you're on the case, Ray." 

"Don't give me a hard time about this, Fraser." 

"Then don't ask me to do something I can't do. I won't leave you on this case alone." 

"Even if I ask you to?" 

"Even if you ask nicely." 

"Pig-headed Mountie." 

"I prefer the term tenacious." 

"Because nobody knows what the fuck it means." 

Fraser didn't pick up the beat, didn't play the usual word game. "Ray, please, tell me what happened." 

"Nothing happened." 

Frustrated, Fraser sat back and shook his head. "What about your face?" 

"It's nothing. I got carried away and bit my lip. It happens." Eyes squeezed shut, avoiding those damning blue eyes like crazy, Ray whispered, "Leave it the fuck alone, Fraser." 

"I can't do that." 

"You mean you won't do that." 

"Perhaps, but you know I'm not asking just to hurt you." Fraser paused, wetting his lower lip. "I care about you, Ray. How can you desire a man like Mercy?" 

"You don't understand." 

"Then explain it." 

Ray got up, too wound up to sit still. He ran a hand through his hair as he paced the room. "It's not just about him." 

"Then what's it about?" 

"About me, about what I want. Besides, I like him." 

"You like him?" 

"Yeah. Is that so hard to believe? He's good looking, rich, and believe it or not, he's no idiot. We've got a lot of things in common." 

"Like what?" 

"What do you mean, like what?" 

"What do you have in common?" 

"Well, we both like the same music, like the same kind of clothes. Neither of us put up with bullshit." 

Fraser shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "And you think this is enough commonality for a relationship?" 

"We don't have a relationship, Fraser, but he says he wants one." 

"I'll bet he does." Fraser's voice had a hard edge. 

"I think he means it." 

"And what about you, Ray? Do you really want to pursue some sort of relationship with a man like Mercy?" 

"Everybody deserves a second chance, Fraser." 

"I understand that, Ray, but I'm worried that your recent break with Stella has clouded your judgment." 

"It's not so recent, Fraser. It's been a few years." 

"But you've remained attached to her for some time. I just feel you need to take extra care to protect yourself in your vulnerable condition." 

"You think I'm looking at Rick because I'm on the rebound?" 

"It's possible." 

"It's not that." 

Fraser shook his head, his eyes never drifting from Ray. "Then what is it? I don't understand." 

Ray sat back down at the table beside Fraser and then took a deep breath before he mustered the words. "I'm lonely and he's interested. I mean, here's this guy, this famous guy, someone who can have just about anybody and he wants me. Why should I turn that down?" 

Shock registered in Fraser's eyes as he focused on the most important part of the confession. "You're lonely?" 

"Yeah? Don't you ever get lonely?" 

For the first time Fraser glanced away, his mug suddenly more interesting than Ray's face. "I'm well acquainted with loneliness, Ray." 

"Then you understand." 

"About loneliness, yes, about your attraction to Mercy, no. I don't like you seeing him." 

"It's my life." 

"I'm well aware of that, Ray, but I fear I'm partly responsible for what's happened. I should never have let it go this far." 

"Huh?" 

"I told you I didn't trust him, that's true, but I was also jealous of your attraction to him." 

"Jealous?" 

"Yes." Fraser looked up, meeting Ray's confused gaze. "I wanted you to look at me the way you looked at him." 

Ray wanted to laugh, but he blinked back tears instead. "You stupid Mountie. I've been looking at you like that from the beginning." 

Fraser's eyes narrowed, searching Ray's face for the truth, his mouth still open in surprise. "Are you saying..." 

"Yeah, I'm saying." 

"Oh, dear." 

"Some observation skills you've got." 

"So it would appear." Fraser reached up and touched Ray's cheek lightly. "Ray, I wish you'd said something." 

"I tried to." 

"Ah." 

"Ah?" 

"The right under my nose thing." 

"Bingo. We have a winner." 

"I think we have two, Ray." 

Ray ignored the pain in his lip and smiled, pulling Fraser into a hug, letting his friend's strong arms wrap him up. He ignored the voice at the back of his head screaming that Mercy wouldn't like being rejected. At the moment, he had an armful of Mountie and he didn't much care about a rock singer with an appetite for Chicago flatfoots. 

Pulling back, Ray whispered, "It's late. Spend the night." 

"On the couch?" 

"In my bed." 

"Ray..." 

"Just to sleep. We need to talk first and I'm too tired to do much more than snooze right now anyway." 

Fraser nodded, his eyes happy and twinkling. "Understood." 

* * *

The loud knocking and Fraser's voice woke him. Stiffly, Ray sat up to find Fraser at the doorway instead of in his bed where Ray most wanted him to be. "Ray, there's a delivery man here. I think you should handle this." 

"Delivery man?" 

"Something about stereo equipment." 

Confused, Ray rubbed his eyes and got up. He pulled on his jeans and a T-shirt before he walked to the front door. That's when he saw two men with a whole ton of boxes. One of the men looked down at the paper and then at Ray. "Ray Vecchio?" 

"Yeah?" 

"I've got a delivery." 

"I didn't order anything." 

"Says here we're supposed to bring it here and set it up." 

"What is it?" 

"A new sound system, all bought and paid for." 

Ray rubbed his face with both hands. Fuck. He should've figured. "Let me guess. Rick Mercy sent it." 

"Yeah." The delivery man grinned. "It's top of the line, too. Where do you want it?" 

"Up his ass for starters." 

Confused, the delivery men looked at one another and then back at Ray. Fraser stepped in, his voice calm and diplomatic. "I think what Detective Vecchio is saying is that he won't accept delivery." 

"Yeah, that's what I'm saying. Take it back." 

"You sure?" 

Ray wanted to explode, but contained himself. "Yeah, I'm sure." 

"Whatever." The delivery man turned to his partner. "Okay, Jerry, back on the truck." 

As they headed off down the hallway, Ray slammed the door shut, his head about to come off. "I don't believe that guy." 

"Ray, calm down." 

"Fuck calm down. You know what that was?" 

"While most people send flowers, I presume Mr. Mercy felt stereo equipment might express his romantic intentions more clearly." 

"Fuck." 

"I'm sure he meant well." 

"Meant well? He's trying to buy me, Fraser. He thinks because he's got all that money, that he can make me like him more by doing this kind of shit." 

"Possibly." 

"The guy's got some nerve." 

"Most definitely." 

Before he built up enough steam to keep going, another knock interrupted his rhythm. Ray shook his head. "I don't want to see anybody, Fraser." 

Nodding in agreement, Fraser opened the door while Ray ducked into the kitchen. "Delivery for a Ray Vecchio." 

Fraser once again turned in his direction. "Ray?" 

"It's okay." Ray walked over and glared. "What is it this time?" 

The new delivery man wore a suit and tie. He held out a small black velvet box and a clip board. "If you'll just sign here, sir." 

"I'm not signing anything. Tell Mercy I don't want it." 

"Sir?" 

"You heard me, whatever the fuck it is, I don't want it. Take it back." 

"Sir, if you'll forgive me, you don't even know what it is." 

"I don't care what it is." 

"It's a flawless diamond stud earring in a brilliant platinum setting, the very best of our collection. Mr. Mercy was very specific in his instructions. He said he wanted you to have it before this afternoon so you could wear it to his performance later this evening." 

Like Mercy could dictate what he'd wear and not wear, son of a bitch. 

"What part of, I don't want it, did you not get? Now, take it and go. If he sends anything else, I'll flush it down the toilet. Tell him." 

"Yes, sir." Shaking his head in bewilderment, the suit and tie guy headed off. 

Ray shut the door and went to the phone. He snatched it up to dial. "Enough of this shit." 

Fraser put his hand out, took the receiver, and hung up before Ray could stop him. Ray eyed him in shock. "What the fuck?" 

"Not yet, Ray, not while you're this angry." 

"I've got a right to be pissed. He's trying to buy affection with fancy gifts I don't want. He's already trying to control me." 

"You need to calm down before you talk to him." 

Biting his lower lip, Ray walked over to the window, his arms crossed and his back to Fraser. "Can you believe this shit?" 

"Based on my observations of Mercy, yes. He wants to win your favor by using expensive gifts to his advantage." 

Sighing heavily, Ray nodded, his jaw clenched. "Yeah, I get that." 

Fraser moved closer. "What will you do?" 

"We have to work the case, but I need to talk to him. Alone. I need to make it clear that things have changed." 

"You'll tell him about us then?" 

Ray turned and moved back to the center of the room, his body just an arm's length from Fraser. "Us?" 

Fraser reached out and drew Ray close, meeting Ray's questioning gaze without hesitation. "Us." 

"What do you want me to tell him?" 

"That you're taken." 

Ray grinned with satisfaction. "Taken?" 

"Committed, in a relationship, not available, whatever suits you, Ray. I just want you to make it clear that you're no longer going to accept any advances on his part." 

"You okay with that, me telling him I'm with you?" 

"The truth is always better than a lie." 

"And if he makes a stink?" 

Fraser smiled and caressed his cheek. "Then we'll deal with it together." 

His body tingling, Ray leaned in closer, his lips a breath away. "You sure about this?" 

Fraser's mouth closed on Ray's with an unexpected possession and kissed away the fears, made Fraser's position on the matter more than perfectly clear. 

* * *

Ray spent the rest of the morning at the station running down the leads, checking alibis, and trying to keep the grin off his face. He kept rubbing his hand across his mouth, his lips still tingling from all that jealous Mountie action. 

Dewey didn't fail to notice. 

"So, who's the new chick?" 

Glancing up from the witness statement, Ray frowned. "New chick?" 

"Yeah, new chick. I know the look." 

"What look?" 

"The one that says you were doing it most of the night when you should've been sleeping." 

Ray's skin pinked and then he snarled. "Listen, that's for me to know and for you to forget about. Got it?" 

"Hey, I'm just doing my job." 

"How's making stupid ass comments about my personal life part of your job?" 

Dewey snickered and got up, picking up a folder as he turned to leave. He shot back over his shoulder. "Just being observant." 

As Dewey headed to the break room, Ray muttered, "Asshole." 

Huey nodded in complete agreement as he continued to type his report. "At least you don't have to work with him every day." 

"You have my sincerest sympathies." 

"Want to trade?" 

"Trade?" 

"Yeah, Fraser for Dewey." 

Ray shook his head and closed his file. "Not if you paid me a million bucks, which on our salary might take a few years." 

"Just for a few days?" 

"Nope." 

"You've got no heart, Ray." 

"I've got brains instead." 

Huey laughed and then swiveled in his seat as he spotted Fraser coming down the hall. "Speaking of your brains, here comes your partner." 

"Low blow, Huey." 

"Truth hurts." 

Fraser came to attention at the edge of Ray's desk, his face beaming and happy. He wore his red uniform and Diefenbaker stood by his side. "What truth would that be, Detective Huey?" 

Ray interrupted before Huey could answer. "Never mind, Fraser. You ready to go see Mercy?" 

"Indeed, I am, Ray." 

"Good." Ray grabbed his black leather jacket and slipped it on while they moved down the hallway together. "I see you got dressed for the occasion." 

"I thought it prudent." 

"Why's that?" 

"Perhaps Mr. Mercy will feel less inclined to pursue you if he knows who your partner truly is." 

"Show your true colors?" Ray nodded, his lips pursed with amusement. "Yeah, that works." 

"I'm glad you approve." 

Ray eyed him and then took a deep breath, wishing like hell they were back in his apartment. Instead, he contained himself and unlocked his car door. Instead of moving away, he leaned in close enough to whisper in Fraser's ear. "I approve like nobody's business, Fraser. We need to talk, the sooner the better." 

Fraser blushed, his eyes lifting and meeting Ray's. "I agree." 

Ray cleared his throat, his cock aching like crazy. "I don't know if I can wait until tonight." 

"The unresolved tension is rather disconcerting." 

"You feel it, too?" 

"I dare say that if we weren't in public, I'd demonstrate first hand how much I feel it, Ray." 

Ray gulped, Fraser's sexy voice like a steady hand stroking his dick. "Jesus, Fraser, shut up and get in the car. Now." 

Fraser put the wolf in the back and then obeyed as Ray made his way to the other side of the GTO. Ray got in, closed the door, and then shut his eyes. "We can't do this here." 

"Do what, Ray?" 

"Talk like this." 

"Like what?" 

"Like this, like this, like how we were just talking." 

"Are you suggesting that your self-control has limits?" 

Ray turned his head, seeing the teasing eyes and the slightly parted lips with just the slightest flick of tongue. "You keep talking like that and I'll show you limits." 

"Is that a promise, Ray?" 

Ray gripped the steering wheel and then banged his head several times in complete frustration. "Stop or I swear..." 

"Ray..." 

"I said stop. I can't play like this, not now, not yet." 

Fraser's voice changed, lost its sexy edge. "I'm sorry, Ray. I didn't mean to upset you." 

"You didn't." 

"Striking the steering wheel repeatedly with your forehead would certainly indicate an increased level of distress. I assure you it was not my intention to..." 

"Shut up, Fraser." 

"Understood." 

Ray kept his eyes closed and his head against the wheel as they sat in silence for a few more moments. Finally, Ray found his voice. "I'm not used to this." 

"Used to what, Ray?" 

"You being like this." 

"Like what? I'm not sure I understand." 

Ray lifted his head and stared at Fraser, his eyes narrowed. "You understand. You're doing it on purpose. You're making me crazy on purpose." 

"Crazy in what way, Ray?" 

"You want me to jump you right here, is that what you want?" 

Fraser's tongue licked his lower lip, his voice softened. "We're on duty, Ray." 

"Exactly." 

Reluctantly, Fraser nodded. "I understand, Ray, but I've found that sometimes one can increase one's pleasure by increasing the level of anticipation." 

"Right now it's distracting. Keep it up and it'll just be damn dangerous." 

"Duly noted." 

Ray took a deep breath to settle himself and refocus, his cock complaining. Starting the engine, he ignored the discomfort and headed out in traffic as he changed the subject. "What'd you find out when you checked the alibis?" 

"I found that Mr. Henderson lied about who he was with on two of the nights in question. The other two nights, I'd say his witnesses are at the very least questionable." 

Ray frowned, upset by the new information. "Tripp Henderson? Why would he want to hurt Rick? They've been together since Rick started the band years ago." 

"As I suggested earlier, the motive could be that Mr. Henderson wants to leave the band and Mr. Mercy refuses to let him out of his contract." 

"So he goes in and trashes Rick's place? That doesn't make any sense." 

"It's been my experience that crimes of passion rarely make sense, Ray. If it is Mr. Henderson, his motive would likely be very personal." 

"You mean because he and Rick used to get together?" 

Fraser turned slightly in his seat. "According to Mr. Davis, your Mr. Mercy and Mr. Henderson had a very intense relationship after Bobby Hatchett left the band." 

"And you're saying Rick broke it off and Tripp is pissed about that, pissed enough to pull this kind of shit?" 

"It's a theory." 

"I don't buy it." 

"Still, you should question Mr. Henderson more closely." 

Ray ignored the angry honking as he cut off a driver in the other lane before making a sharp turn. "You got no other leads?" 

"Have you?" 

"Nope. I dead-ended on the crazy fan thing. You got any idea how many Emerson's there are in Chicago? Anyway, it's still early." 

"Ray, if we look at it logically, it has to be someone close to Mercy." 

"I know. I don't like it, but I know." 

"You should talk to Henderson." 

"I will, after I talk to Rick. I have to get this thing about him and me straightened out first." Ray stopped at a light and stared out the window, dreading the whole conversation. 

"Ray?" 

"Yeah?" 

"I understand that this isn't easy for you." 

Ray glanced over, heartened by the concern in Fraser's eyes. "Thanks. It's not, but he knew from the get go that I wanted you." 

Fraser frowned, confused. "You talked about me with him?" 

"He figured it out almost from the start." 

"Really?" 

"Yeah, just like I did about him and Bobby. We agreed not to mention it." 

"I see." 

The light changed and Ray drove on. "What do you see?" 

"I find it oddly disturbing that a stranger could see something I couldn't." 

"He's not really a stranger, Fraser." 

"You just met him yesterday, Ray. I would say that qualifies him as a relative stranger." 

"Maybe, but it feels like I've known him a lot longer." 

"Because he's a celebrity?" 

"It's more than that." 

"Then what is it?" 

"I can't explain it." 

Fraser didn't give up, kept pushing. "Try, Ray. I want to understand your obsession with this man." 

Ray frowned and turned his head. "Obsession?" 

"Yes." 

"I'm not obsessed." 

"What do you call it?" 

"Chemistry." 

"Chemistry?" 

"Yeah, we've got chemistry. Boom, boom, boom. We sparked. We've got the same thing, you and me, but we just didn't take off right away." 

Fraser nodded thoughtfully. "Some reactions can be quite destructive, Ray, while other combinations create more favorable results. Rather than an explosion, I'd like to think our union would result in a steady heat." 

"Steady heat? Oh, yeah, I'm all over that." 

"However, some might prefer the excitement of an explosion." 

"Is this your not so subtle way of asking whether I want you or Mercy?" 

"I wouldn't dream of putting you in such an awkward position, Ray." 

Ray shook his head in amusement. "Jesus, Fraser, it's not awkward to ask me what I feel. I love you." 

"I love you, too, Ray." 

"Thanks. And, sure, Mercy's hot, but so are you. You're just hot in different ways. The point is, I want you, not him. I get that now." 

Still unconvinced, Fraser persisted. "You think Rick Mercy's sexually attractive?" 

"I just said that." 

"Why?" 

"Why?" 

"Yes, Ray, why do you think he's attractive? I mean, he and I are completely different. It's hard for me to imagine that you find us both desirable." 

"Actually, you're not completely different. Sure in looks, you're not the same, but in a lot of ways, you're more alike than you might think." 

Fraser turned in his seat and stared at Ray like he'd lost his mind completely. "Are you unhinged?" 

Ray couldn't help but laugh. "Why do you think he turned me on, Fraser? He's tough, knows his own mind. He's bossy as hell. He walks in a room and all the eyes turn to him. Plus, he's got a voice that can melt concrete. It's the same thing with you." 

"You are unhinged. I'm nothing like that." 

"You're exactly like that. You've just got a different angle. You get your way, but you do it politely, with smiles and thank you kindlys. You're the toughest, most strong-willed person I know. Nothing fazes you. And believe me when I say this, everybody checks you out when you walk in a room, to say nothing of your voice that makes me shiver all over. Oh, yeah, you both have a lot in common." 

Fraser shook his head, shocked. "You really see me like that?" 

"Yeah. It's all good stuff, Fraser." 

"It doesn't sound good. I don't consider myself domineering." 

"Well, take my word for it, you are and it is." 

"Then how did you choose me over him?" 

Ray hesitated and then took a chance. "Because I've loved you from the start. The only reason I even went for Mercy is because I thought you didn't want to do this." 

"So you're saying if I weren't receptive to you, you'd go with Mercy?" 

"It doesn't matter now." 

"I think it matters a great deal." Fraser's tight tone brought Ray's head up. 

"Why? Why should it matter now?" 

"How do you know that you couldn't fall in love with Rick Mercy given time alone together?" 

Ray didn't hesitate, didn't even stop to think. "Because I love you, Fraser. I don't need time alone to figure that out." 

Fraser reached over and touched Ray's thigh, his hand searing through the denim. "Is that what you're going to tell him, that you love me?" 

"Partly, yeah." 

"And the other part?" 

"That I'm sorry for getting his hopes up." 

Nodding in understanding, Fraser kept his hand on Ray's leg and they drove on in silence. 

* * *

Rick met them at the door of his office, his blue eyes clear and sparkling for a change. He stalled when he saw Fraser and Diefenbaker. "What the fuck?" 

"Rick Mercy, I'd like you to meet my partner, Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. He first came to Chicago on the trail of his father's killers and for reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture, he's chosen to remain as Liaison Officer at the Consulate." 

Fraser tipped his hat, but Mercy ignored him and stared at Ray, his expression dark and suspicious. "You're kidding? The guy's a fucking Mountie?" 

"Yeah." Ray pointed at their wolf companion. "And this is Diefenbaker." 

"Looks like a wolf." 

Fraser nodded and explained, "Half wolf actually, and he's deaf. Still he seems to have adapted fairly well to the urban environment." 

"No shit." Mercy shook his head and then focused again on Ray. "You want to tell me why he's wearing that get up, or better yet, why the fuck he's even here? I told you last night I didn't want him on the case anymore." 

Ray snapped, "He's my partner. Where I go, he goes. Deal with it." 

Mercy hesitated, measuring the conviction of the words, obviously weighing in his head whether to argue or not. Still ignoring Fraser, he gave in. "Okay, but we have to talk. Alone." 

"Yeah, I know." Ray touched Fraser's arm and motioned to the front of the bar. "Give us a minute. See if you can track down Henderson. I need to talk to him." 

"Certainly, Ray." 

As soon as Fraser left, Mercy slammed the door shut. He moved to hug him, but Ray stepped away. "Don't." 

Rick stopped and shook his head in anger and disbelief. "Fuck. You've changed your mind." 

"It's more complicated than that." 

"Oh, complicated, like I couldn't see that Red finally made a move on your ass just as soon as he thought you might move on to somebody else." 

"It's not like that." 

Rick stepped closer, facing off, his voice tight and hateful. "Then tell me what's going on. Why'd you send my shit back?" 

"You don't need to buy me." 

"Fuck you. I wasn't doing that." 

"That's what it looked like." 

Mercy shook his head and ran a hand through his messy hair. "After last night, I just wanted to give you something. I like giving shit to people I like." 

"I don't want it." 

"Okay, fine, but why the cold shoulder?" Instead of waiting for an answer, Rick got even closer, his voice tight again. "Tell me that me sucking your dick last night wasn't good." 

Face heated, Ray wrapped his arms around his middle. "I'm not saying it wasn't good. It just shouldn't have happened." 

"So what happened to you not doing casual, fucker?" 

Ray stood his ground, but his whole body tensed. "I wasn't lying. I don't do casual, but last night was a mistake." 

"You saying my mouth on your dick was a mistake, that you giving me a hand job didn't matter?" 

"I'm not saying that. It did matter." Ray cleared his throat and tried not to back away. "I like you, I like you a lot, but it's not enough. I love Fraser. Last night when I left you, he was waiting at my place and we talked. We straightened some stuff out, stuff that we needed to get figured out for a long time. In a way, I owe you for that." 

"Fucking convenient timing." 

"Look, I know you're angry. I'd be pissed, too." 

"Why? Because someone you thought was different screwed you over?" 

Ray had no defense, couldn't find anything better to say than to apologize. "I'm sorry." 

Rick studied him, Ray staring right back and holding his breath. Finally, Mercy nodded and then stepped back. He moved to sit behind his desk, taking several long moments before speaking. "I knew you were too good to be true. I should've figured." 

"Didn't mean to hurt you." 

"Yeah, well..." 

After a long silence, Ray thumbed toward the door. "Look, I need to interview Henderson. His alibis don't check out. Any reason to believe he might be the one?" 

Mercy shook his head stubbornly, not ready to let the matter go. "So that's it? You just want to drop this thing between us for a fucking Mountie?" 

"Come on, leave it alone." 

"I'm serious." Mercy leaned in, his hands fisted together on the desk. "I was there last night, man, and you weren't faking. You were into me as much as I was into you. You can't fake that shit." 

"I wasn't faking." 

"So what's the fucking problem?" 

"I love Fraser." 

"Fuck Fraser." 

"Shut up with that shit." 

Ignoring Ray's protest, Rick waved him still. "Look, I've got an idea. I've got a ten-week tour coming up. I need a security man. Come with me." 

"I've got a job. I'm a cop." 

"You'd be making five times what you're making now to start and you'd still be doing what you're doing now, protecting me." 

"Being a cop is more than bodyguard work." 

"You're missing the fucking point here, Ray. I want you to give me a chance. It's not fair to give me a taste and then cut me off like that. You think you love this Fraser guy so much, why not test it? See if you can do the tour with me and still want him when it's over. If you can, then I'll back off. If you can't, then I'll get what I want." 

"I can't." 

"Chicken shit." 

"It's got nothing to do with being afraid. I've got my head on straight finally and I don't want to fuck it up." 

"Right. You want to go on making peanuts and living in a fucking dream world, which, by the way, will be fucking shattered when your cop buddies find out you're fucking a Mountie. At least if you're fucking me you don't have to deal with that shit. People don't give a shit about who's fucking who when you're doing a rock star." Mercy paused and then met Ray's gaze. "Speaking of giving a shit, you tell your boyfriend about what we did last night?" 

Chest tight, Ray kept his voice neutral. "He knows we were together." 

"He know how far we went?" 

"It doesn't matter." 

Rick smiled and sat back, suddenly smug. "Fucker doesn't know you jerked me off, doesn't know I gave you a blowjob." 

"You going to tell him?" 

"Might." 

"Might get your head kicked in." 

Rick snorted. "Wouldn't be the first time." 

"Hard to sing with no teeth." 

"Done it before." 

Ray swallowed hard. "I'll tell him." 

"When?" 

"Later." 

Rick's expression softened, the pain making his eyes bruised, his face even more grim. "You really love the guy." 

"Yeah, I do." 

Mercy shook his head and reached for his beer. He took a long swallow. "Don't tell him. What happened between us, that's between us. It's not his business." 

Ray shook his head, more convinced than ever that he had to come clean with Fraser. "I'll tell him." 

"That's up to you. What we did, it was private, but what you tell him is up to you. He won't fucking hear it from me." 

Reluctantly, Ray nodded. "Okay." Stepping forward, Ray studied the haggard features, ashamed of his own part in adding more lines to the already wounded expression. "No hard feelings." 

"Too fucking soon to say." 

"Right." 

Leaving, Ray reached for the door as Rick asked, "You really think it's Tripp?" 

Ray hesitated and then turned back around. "I'm not sure. So far he's the only one whose alibis didn't pan out." 

"Tripp's been with me for fifteen fucking years. Why would he trash my place?" 

"You tell me." 

Rick shrugged. "He ain't happy. Hasn't been for years." 

"Who is?" 

"Good point." Rick stood up and came around the desk. "I want to talk to him myself." 

"I don't think that's a good idea." 

"I need to do this, Ray. If it's him, I can't just turn him in. He's like family." 

"You mean like an ex-husband?" 

Rick smirked, but the humor didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah, sort of. Anyway, let me see what he has to say first." 

"He might deny it." 

"If you ask, yeah, but I can tell when he's lying." 

"You think he's been lying about this?" 

Rick didn't look up, but opened the door as he spoke quietly. "It'd explain a lot of shit. I don't know, but I'll find out." 

"What are you going to do if it's him?" 

Rick stopped in the hallway, their bodies a few inches apart. "Knock him on his ass and then forgive him." 

"I have to arrest him anyway." 

Rick met his eyes, his voice angry again. "Then I'll get him a fucking lawyer, Mr. Detective, Mr. By the Book Vecchio. Next to Bobby, he's my oldest friend." 

"A friend who destroyed your stuff." 

"Well, if he did, he probably had a good reason. Fuck, he's put up with my shit for fifteen years. That's probably reason enough to make anybody crazy." 

Ray agreed, but decided that he had no room to talk, so kept his mouth shut. 

* * *

Ray poured himself another drink, but held it between both hands on the table. He played the scene between Rick and Tripp over and over in his head, the screamed curses, holding Rick back as Tripp blamed him for every bad thing in his life ever since Bobby left. Ray sipped the scotch, the liquid heat warming up his belly as he thought about friendships going down the drain without one of the guy's even noticing. Stella came to mind, the last months of their marriage. She'd sucker punched him with the divorce papers pretty much the same way Tripp hammered his point home with Rick. Love and hate danced too close together sometimes to tell the difference. 

"Ray." 

"Yeah?" 

"You had no choice. You had a duty to arrest him." 

"I know that." 

"Duty comes before our personal feelings." 

"I know that, too, Fraser. Sucks, though." 

"Yes, Ray, sometimes, it does." 

Fraser settled in the chair beside him and reached over, moving the scotch bottle to the other side of the table. He never said anything about the drinking, but Ray got the message. He finished off the last of the booze in his glass and then met Fraser's worried eyes. "You think the DA will charge him?" 

"I don't know. Mr. Mercy seemed pretty insistent that he wouldn't press charges and that he'd make restitution to the insurance companies himself. The only one benefiting from prosecution would be the media." 

"It's going to be a circus no matter what." 

"From what I've seen of the American press, quite likely." 

Ray sighed and sat back, his body exhausted and complaining. "So, how do you think it happened?" 

"What?" 

"How did it get to that point? I mean, these guys came up through all the rough times together, were tight, even lovers. How did it get to the point that Tripp lost it like that, started wrecking Rick's stuff to get back at him for rejecting him?" 

"Unrequited love is difficult at best, Ray. Sometimes the effects can be mitigated with distance, but in Mr. Henderson's situation, he was forced by the contract to stay with the group, to witness Mr. Mercy's promiscuity close hand. It couldn't have been easy for him." 

"You sound like you have experience." 

"With what, Ray?" 

"With that unrequited love thing." 

Fraser glanced away and shrugged. "I suppose at one time or another almost everyone suffers from it." 

"Yeah, I get that, but I'm not asking about everybody. I'm asking about you. Who was it?" 

"Innusiq." 

"Innusiq? Your best friend growing up?" 

Fraser's voice tightened and he didn't look up, didn't meet Ray's eyes. "It was a long time ago, Ray." 

"You were kids." 

"Young men. He was very handsome and he extended his friendship to me even though it cost him friends of his own." 

"I don't understand." 

"I was an outsider." 

"By outsider do you mean white?" 

Fraser looked up and nodded, the pain in his eyes from telling the story evident even years later. "The Inuit people have very strong traditions, many of which revolve around family ties. I had few of those." 

"Sounds like discrimination." 

"Or self-preservation. Their history taught them to distrust outsiders and in particular the Canadian government and I was the son of one of the government's greatest heroes. Innusiq didn't care about that. He saw me as an individual." 

"Like it should be." 

"But often isn't." 

Ray reached over and took Fraser's hand, squeezing it. "So what happened between you and Innusiq?" 

"Friendship." 

"But you wanted more?" 

"Yes, but he was strictly heterosexual. I, to my great consternation, found myself different in yet one more way. I found that my sexuality permitted me to be attracted to both men and women." 

"And to Innusiq in particular." 

"Exactly." 

"So you left." 

"He started to date one of the local girls and eventually it became clear that I could stay and irreparably damage our friendship or leave. I chose to leave." 

"I'm sorry it didn't work out, Fraser." 

Nodding, Fraser sandwiched Ray's hand between his own. "I appreciate that, Ray, but as I said it was a long time ago." 

"Still hurts." 

"Yes, sometimes." Lifting a hand to Ray's face, he caressed his partner's cheek. "I must admit that I feared that my feelings for you were a repeat of my earlier experience. I was afraid you would reject me as well." 

Ray captured the hand at his face, turning his head and kissing the palm. "Didn't happen." 

"No, it didn't." Fraser leaned in, pulling Ray closer. He traced his finger along Ray's lower lip. "You're tired. We should eat and then you should rest." 

Ray shook his head, Fraser's warm breath on his face turning him on. "Later." 

"Ray." 

"Fraser." 

"Call me Ben." 

Ray smiled. "About time. Ben it is." 

"Though you should probably still call me Fraser when we're working." 

"We're not working now, Ben." 

Fraser smiled. "No. No, we're not." 

Ray shifted closer, taking Ben's face between his hands before kissing that mouth, those lips parting immediately. Tongues met, wrestled and Ben moaned into Ray's mouth. Pulling back, Ray smiled. "You want to do this at the table or move to the couch?" 

"Are those my only options?" 

Ray pulled back even further, staring in surprise. "Bed?" 

"Preferably, yes." 

"Eager much?" 

"Ray, we're consenting adults who..." 

Placing a finger over Ben's mouth, Ray shushed him. "It's okay. I want it, too, but we should probably talk first." 

"Talk?" 

"We said we were going to talk last night and then again this morning, but we never did." 

Ben closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "You're absolutely right. I don't know what I was thinking." 

"I know exactly what you were thinking." 

Fraser choked back a laugh. "Am I that transparent?" 

"Just that horny." 

Bright, playful eyes met Ray's. "I am aroused, Ray, I won't deny that. I don't mean to rush the conversation, but if we're going to have any kind of meaningful discussion, we should probably hurry." 

"You saying I turn you on?" 

"Absolutely." 

"Same here, buddy." 

Fraser's expression became more serious. "But I understand your hesitation, Ray. If you need assurances that my intentions are honorable, then I can give you that. I love you with all my heart. I can promise loyalty and faithfulness. I cherish your friendship and your devotion more than my own life." 

Ray blinked hard to fight the sting. "I love you, too, Ben, but you have to know something about last night, about me and Rick first." 

This time Ben shushed Ray. "No, I don't. We weren't together, so you owe me no explanation of your behavior. However, should you decide to be with Mercy instead of me at some later point, I would be quite devastated." 

"Won't happen." 

"It might." Ben's lips thinned as he spoke, his words tight and difficult. "He's wealthy and famous. You admitted that you find him sexually attractive. Being with me offers you none of the benefits a relationship with such a man would offer. You could be quite wealthy and travel around the world. You could have many things with him that I can't possibly offer." 

"But I don't love him. I love you." 

Eyes closed, Ben swallowed hard as Ray wrapped his arms around his shoulders. "I love you, too, Ray." 

"Then it's settled. No more talk about Rick Mercy." 

"But..." 

"What'd I just say?" 

Ben smiled and lifted his head as he sighed in relief. "No more talk about Rick Mercy." Ben hesitated and then added, "You're sure?" 

"You want me to pop you one?" 

"Well, actually, I'd prefer a kiss." 

Ray obliged, taking Ben's mouth again, making sure his partner had no more doubts about his feelings. Breaking the kiss, Ray whispered, "Bed?" 

"If you don't mind." 

Chuckling to himself, Ray stood up and pulled Ben up with him. He glanced over at Diefenbaker who quietly followed the proceedings with great interest, but without lifting his head from his paws. "You stay out here, Dief. No peeking." 

"Ray, Diefenbaker has never shown any inclination towards voyeurism." 

"Has he had a cause to be a peeper before?" 

Diefenbaker lifted his head as he woofed and snuffled an answer. Fraser's eyes darkened as he motioned to the wolf. "That was different. Mind your own business. We'll go for a walk later." 

Ray raised an eyebrow. "What was different?" 

"Never mind." 

"This is something I don't want to know about, right?" 

Ben pulled Ray into a hug, kissing his shoulder and then running a tongue up the side of Ray's neck. "Jesus." Ray grabbed Ben and led him to the bedroom in a hurry. "Forget the wolf tales. Let's get busy." 

Ben answered by quickly undressing Ray, pulling off the T-shirt before attacking the zipper. 

"Wait, wait. Boots first." 

"Right you are, Ray. Boots." 

Pushing Ray to sit on the side of the bed, Ben dropped to his knees and tugged Ray's boots off. Then Ray stood and dropped his pants and underwear, kicking them off before reaching for Ben's tunic. "Fair's fair." Ray pushed Ben's hands away and did the buttons himself, working as fast as he could. He peeled it off and then took down the suspenders. "Lift." 

Ben raised his arms and let Ray undress him, slipping the Henley over his head. "Your boots now." 

"Ray, perhaps I should do those." 

"I want to." The urgency in his own voice surprised him. Ray kneeled at Ben's feet, undoing the laces, his own breath growing faster and more labored as he thought about what it all meant, this thing between him and Fraser, this partnership moving to a whole new level. His hands shook as he wrestled off the right boot and then the left. He pushed Ben on his back and then pulled off his lover's trousers, leaving him lying there in only his shorts, his feet still resting on the floor. Ray stood and shoved Ben's legs apart, standing between them. "What do you want, Ben? Tell me." 

"I want you, Ray." 

"Yeah?" 

"Very much so, yes." Ben lifted his arm, reaching out. Ray took his hand as Ben shifted up on the bed, pulling Ray's naked body down next to his. "I've wanted you so much, for so long." 

"Why didn't you say something?" 

"I couldn't." 

"Why not?" 

"I wasn't sure. I couldn't risk losing you, too." 

Ray frowned and raised his head, turning his body more toward Ben. "Losing me, too? You mean you thought I'd be freaked out if you said you loved me?" 

"Yes." 

"Idiot." 

"It would seem so, yes." 

"Blind, too. I did everything but jump you." 

"I admit freely to being less than perfect, Ray. I thought I was seeing what I wanted to see. I convinced myself you couldn't possibly be interested in me, not when I saw how devoted you were to Stella." 

"Stella's history, Ben. I loved her, will always love her at some level, but she's gone, donesky, over and done with." 

"But she was a huge part of your life, Ray. How was I to know you were ready to accept closure and move on? You never told me." 

Ray closed his eyes with frustration and cupped Ben's cheek. He dropped his face only a few inches from Ben's before he opened his eyes again, his voice even stronger. "I'm an idiot, too, okay? I should've told you, but I figured you'd run away. You do that, Ben. You run away and hide when things get too hot to handle." 

"I do not." 

"Do, too." 

"You're exaggerating." 

"Fraser, you go away inside yourself, to some place deep inside I can't reach. I was afraid you'd run off again, or even worse get transferred back to Canada. I should've said something. But that's all over with. Let's forget it and move on." 

"Agreed." Ben ran the back of his hand up the side of Ray's cheek before he drew him in for a kiss, a long exploration, the tongue moving slowly at first and then faster, the faint whisper of bark tea teasing the back of Ray's throat. 

Ray grew hard, his cock already leaking as he shoved his hips against Ben's thigh. 

Ben growled as he turned, slipping a hand down to pull off his shorts. Soon bare, he lined up their erections and thrust, meeting each of Ray's eager shoves into him with one of his own. The heat seared Ray's crotch, his balls throbbing as he groaned, grabbing Ben's ass with both hands to pull him even closer, to make the contact harder, rougher. Ray's head fell back as Ben nipped at his neck and licked down his chest, sucking on his nipples. It took only a matter of minutes before electric charges zapped along Ray's gut, his dick exploding. His whole body jerked with coming, bright flares in his head celebrating the release and delicious pleasure of Ben still humping up against him. Panting, Ray wrapped his arms around Ben and held on as his lover finished, the sharp scent of semen spiking the air and slicking his belly. All those tight muscles tensed and then relaxed in his embrace as Ben's head fell forward and rested on Ray's shoulder. 

"Dear Lord." 

Ray chuckled and kissed the side of Ben's damp face. "Yeah, feels good." Ben didn't answer, just shifted a little, refusing to give up contact. Shutting his eyes, Ray basked in the glory of holding Fraser, of having Ben for his very own forever. 

After a few minutes, Ben's breathing returned to almost normal and he lifted his head, his face still flushed and his lips red and swollen. The words came out raw and still husky. "Is it always like this?" 

"What?" 

"Sex with you. Is it always so primal?" 

Ray grinned. "Primal? You saying I'm like some kind of primitive caveman, Ben?" 

"Not at all. It's just that I've never..., what I mean to say is, it's not at all what I expected." 

Ray's grin melted. "You're disappointed?" 

Fraser snorted and buried his face against Ray's sweaty chest. "Not in the least, more like amazed." 

"And pleased?" 

Ben lifted his head, his voice suddenly more soft as he caressed Ray's face. "More pleased than I can ever say, Ray." 

"Then show me." 

"Show you?" 

"Do me again." 

Ben smirked and shook his head. "I'm almost forty, Ray. I'm afraid I need some recovery time." 

Ray nodded and rocked his body, pushing Ben up and over on his back. He straddled Ben's crotch and balanced himself forward with his hands palms down on Ben's chest. "I'm not good at waiting." 

"So you've said." 

"So, I guess we'll have to do some other stuff while I'm waiting." 

"Other stuff?" 

"Yeah, other stuff. You game?" 

Swallowing hard, his eyes still dark with arousal, Ben nodded with a greedy gleam of anticipation. "I'm in your hands, Ray." 

"You bet your Mountie ass you are." 

"I don't wager, Ray." 

"It's not a bet when it's a sure thing." Ray leaned down and kissed those puffy lips and then whispered, "I love you, Ben." 

"And I you, Ray." 

"Mean it?" 

"I don't lie." 

"Cross your Mountie heart?" 

"You have my word." 

"Good enough." Ray took a deep breath and then stretched out over Ben's body, his knees pushing between Ben's legs. He drank in the heat, the rush of firm muscles pressed like brands against each of his own as he rested his face over Ben's heart. "It won't be easy, but it'll be real, as real as it gets. That's the thing with Stella. I sometimes think it was never real. And Rick, that was like some kind of dream, like make-believe or something." 

"Ray?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Would you mind not discussing your former lovers when we're in bed?" 

Ray lifted his head from Ben's chest, embarrassed. "Sorry." 

Cupping the back of Ray's head, Ben drew him back down. "I understand. I'm just selfish. When we're naked, I want you all to myself." 

"Selfish, huh?" 

"Completely self-centered." 

Ray grinned as he felt Ben's returning erection pushing into his own. "Oh, yeah, I can see that." 

"I thought you might." 

Hips shoved up as Ben took the initiative and pushed Ray onto his back. Dipping down, Ben sniffed loudly, first along Ray's neck and then shifting to get a whiff of his belly. "Uh, Ben, what ya doing?" 

"You smell wonderful, Ray." A tongue flicked out and Ben licked up along Ray's chest. "You taste even better." 

Ray smiled lovingly as he combed his fingers through Ben's dark, wavy hair. "I taste and smell like you." 

"On the contrary, Ray. Your scent and flavors are quite unique, easily identifiable from my own." Ben lowered his face and then nuzzled an armpit, the words muffled. "So very exhilarating." 

"Yeah?" 

"Oh, yes." 

Ray laughed as he teased. "Freak." 

"A freak in love." 

Ray sobered as Ben lifted his head, his eyes nearly black again from arousal. "Yeah?" 

"With all my heart." 

"Same here." Thumbing Ben's lower lip, Ray gently drew him closer, kissing him before he whispered, "Knock yourself out. Whatever you want." 

"I want you, Ray." 

"Show me." 

And in true Mountie fashion, Ben did just that for the rest of their lives both in Chicago and later when they ended up in Canada, snowbound or traipsing across the tundra. They fussed and made up, bickered and made love, always remaining faithful no matter what. 

* * *

The end 


End file.
